


Mercy In Her Sleep

by Xhuuya



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Origin Story, Redemption, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Torture, mercymaker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xhuuya/pseuds/Xhuuya
Summary: Angela Ziegler has been surprisingly busy since Overwatch was disbanded. Still regarded as one of the scientific elite, she thinks nothing of all the conferences and boring seminars until an old friend's name appears after years of being inactive and a sniper almost takes her life in the same day.





	1. Adrenalize

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic on Ao3! Actually, my first fic I've ever published. I haven't even posted drabbles on Tumblr.
> 
> HOWEVER!
> 
> I'm excited about this one and excited to share it. I've got quite the plan for my little rareship ;)
> 
> Any feedback is welcome and I appreciate your time!
> 
> Feel free to bug me on my Tumblr too. Xhuuya.tumblr.com. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Also, since I have the permission, this title and a huge amount of my inspiration comes from this: http://artbytesslyn.tumblr.com/post/155151078184/keep-on-sleeping-ara%C3%B1a-patreon-commissions (I'm only mildly in love with their art. Don't judge me.)

Angela removed her glasses and swiped a hand over her face, as if the exhaustion settling heavily under her eyes could be whisked away by the movement. She tipped her head to the side and moved her hand down to rub the space between her neck and shoulder.

This conference was yet another in a barrage of seminars and scientific gatherings lately. It felt impossible to be so busy this many years after Overwatch had been disbanded, but with both talk of it returning and recent advancements within the community, it only made sense to gather the best of the best.

As a doctor married to her work, most of these sessions were repetitive and dragged on endlessly. Most of the subjects she could have taken charge of, and done a better job explaining the content than those that had been chosen. Part of her speculated looking up their credentials later. 

“Moving on.” The current presenter lowered their volume, an ominous clip to their voice as they continued. “Our next subject is one of very personal nature and of extreme importance with recent international reports.”

This was new. 

Angela pushed a stray strand of blond behind her ear and put her glasses back on, squinting a bit to compensate for the distance from the projection. Her fingers gripped the armrest as if she was falling backwards, and she audibly, albeit awkwardly, gasped through the lump in her throat. The noise drew a concerned look from the nearest colleague. 

_Psychiatry: Dissociative Identity Disorder & Talon’s Use of Psychosis as a Weapon._

Once her initial surprise ebbed away, she flicked on her tablet, and her fingers danced over the keys faster than the words could come from whatever unknown specialist’s droning on and on. Multiple tabs opened before their first bullet point. Current news, eyes flickering through Europe first, especially news of England or France. She composed a single email to send colleagues around the world, some of which were actually in the same room as her.

Effectively reading: _What the fuck is going on?_

In more professional terms, of course.

A chat silently pinged on her screen from an unknown sender.

_“The Widowmaker returns.”_

The cursor flickered, anticipating her response. 

Her mind was racing, but it completely blanked out any potential responses. Apparently the mysterious sender hadn’t expected an answer because a long time passed between the message and her fingers returning to the tablet.

“--the problem lies with Widowmaker, civilian formerly known as Amelie Lacroix, not being the only target of such psychosis.” The specialist was still talking, and Angela glanced up to see the slide switch from that familiar cyanotic skin and the ghost of an old friend. A new slide showed an array of people, a few of which she recognized from past missions in Overwatch. “These are some of the other agents we expect may have been taken by Talon and administered the same treatment. The striking difference is between the use of a civilian and agents. As a precaution --”

Is that why the Widowmaker hadn’t made an appearance in years? Had they been using her treatment as an _example_ for others? What the hell was Talon getting at with such a thing? 

_“It’s not what you think.”_ The chat moved on, regardless of her lack of response. _“There’s something for you at your hotel’s front desk. Read it. Privately.”_

 _Obviously_ , she thought, bitterness at the perceived lack of her intelligence turning her lips into a sneer. As she moved to respond to the message, the window closed itself. A few pixels on the screen went black and flickered back to life with a start, almost like the device had taken a calming breath. She took her own, unaware until the thought that she had been holding it the entire time. 

The chair made no sound as she pushed back, but nearly jumping from her spot drew more than a few eyes in her direction. She mumbled a half-truth about not feeling well, clenching suddenly cold hands around the strap of her bag. 

If the presenter noticed her departure, he made no indication of it that Angela could see.

Behind the podium, a separate device relayed a silent message as the presentation continued. “The Doctor is on the move.”

\- - -

Angela watched from outside the glass doors of the hotel, leaning casually against the wall to sell the image of being on her phone while stealing short glances inside. Normally she would use a communication piece in her ear, but she hadn’t stayed long enough for anyone to notice that or question it. Further, she was speaking in thick Swiss German, and most of the guests here would struggle to understand it. To be safe, she actually attempted to sort out her thoughts via the fake conversation.

The woman at the front desk was chewing gum, her eyes shifting around the large lobby as though she was expecting someone. The clock, her holopad for checking in and out guests, the small phone she snuck from her pocket every few minutes—she couldn’t sit still or focus on any one thing for very long.

Once Angela was convinced that she had not been followed, she pushed open the doors and strolled through as she normally would. She passed the desk and had almost made it to the elevator when she heard the girl’s voice. 

A beautiful timbre normally, her voice was marred by shortness of breath and an elevated heart rate. “Doctor Ziegler?” She shifted her weight, refusing to return Angela’s gaze. “You have a package.”

“Oh?” Angela feigned ignorance and surprise. “Is Luca attempting to woo me into going on a date with him while I’m here doing important work?”

Angela’s demeanor appeared to ease the girl’s nerves a little and she stopped her shifting, even giggling softly at the obvious and silly behavior. “No, Doctor. A woman delivered this.” 

_Oh, child, as if women weren’t also admirers of the doctor._

“Curious.” She tapped a finger against her chin as she moved back to the desk. Her curiosity begged her forward, screaming to snatch whatever it was, but she used the sound of her heels clicking against tile as a metronome to pace herself. “I can’t say I was expecting anything, but let’s see it then.” 

The girl’s nerves returned in full force as she reached beneath her, grabbing something small enough that it fit hidden within curled fingers. Her eyes searched everywhere except the doctor’s, refusing to look at her as she dropped the device into Angela’s outstretched hand. She wiped sweaty palms on her shirt and reached habitually for her phone.

“Are you alright?” Angela asked in a gentle voice, not wanting to startle the poor girl any further. “You look pale.”

Angela would have missed the slight shake of her head had she not been watching for it. It was the move of someone under threat, and she'd seen that fear plenty, from victims of abusive partners to soldiers under fear of terrorist cells in battle.

“Think it’s just a bug.” She flashed a half-hearted smile and returned her attention to her phone.

An obvious lie, but this wasn't going anywhere and Angela knew it. If she was truly being threatened, the last thing a respectable doctor wanted was to needlessly get an innocent civilian involved. She stuffed the device into her pocket and turned away with a small wave over her shoulder. “Well there are a lot of doctors here this week. I expect you'll hear it more than you can stand, but get some rest.”

Each second it took for the elevator to descend the twelve floors felt like hours, the device heavier in her pocket with each ding. Technically she could use the tablet in her bag to access the device, but wanted to reach her more secure computer and set up defenses for a potential trap. Curiosity and a certain sense of dread clawed at her thoughts, all of the events of the past few hours not adding up to anything but nefarious in her mind. 

She checked up and down the hall as she entered her room, glancing behind her until the door and lock had both clicked into place. She leaned her back against the cool metal, gathering herself for a moment before looking around the room. Gritting her teeth, she refused to allow paranoia to guide her actions, insisting that caution was good reasoning for opening all the doors and closets.

Though she had left the conference center before day’s end, the colors of twilight making the clouds look like bruises against a battered horizon. A plane drifted by, the exhaust slashing a white streak through the air as it descended miles away, disappearing behind the silhouettes of the mountains.

After closing the curtains to any outside light or prying eyes, Angela pulled a separate bag from the foot of the bed, not bothering to plug the computer into the wall as she set it down. Too anxious to sit, she drummed her fingers on the edges of the screen as she stared at the device next to it. A tiny thing, similar to a storage chip, it couldn’t be explosive or filled with any type of neurotoxins. 

_Breathe, Angela._

She took that breath, picked the device up, and plugged it in. 

Immediately, giant red letters flashed across the screen, impossible to miss even as she began pacing back and forth. 

**“GET ON THE FLOOR. NOW.”**  
Angela dropped without questioning it, catching herself on her palms, thankful that she’d at least maintained enough reflexes to save her tongue from her teeth snapping shut as her chin hit the ground. Above her, she heard a loud crack, almost deafening to her enhanced hearing. Bits of the wall pelted her back as the subsonic round thunked into it and through to the opposite side. 

Her breathing hitched, shuddered, and stopped. She forced herself to simultaneously hold her breath and slow her heart down, the sound of it slamming in her chest distracting her ability to assess the situation rationally. 

“Probably just a bug.” 

Stupid.

The girl had been trying to tell her about the damn device being a tracking device, not about some false sickness.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

After a long few minutes laying there, she finally allowed herself to breathe normally and sit up slowly. There wouldn’t be a second shot after the first missed, it seemed. The knowledge didn’t help her shake the feeling of someone watching her every move.

The hole in the curtain and the wall indicated the line of sight the sniper had used, and she crawled away from it. Her mind fought to figure out how a shot into the 20th floor could be taken when there were no buildings even close in height anywhere nearby. The shot must have been taken from a helicopter, an almost impossibly long shot considering she didn’t remember hearing or seeing the craft when she’d looked outside. 

_Widowmaker wouldn’t have missed._

Her skin crawled with a ripple of goosebumps at the thought.

_Who had taken that shot then?_


	2. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talon wants Angela Ziegler dead, but a few operatives within want to protect her. A glimpse into how this whole mess started. What is their plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It continues! It was so hard to wait the full week to give you all an update (it's a bit early cause I have errands tomorrow but lol). Also changed the title to my original idea cause I stopped harassing myself about it being a sort of pun.
> 
> As usual, any feedback is welcome and I appreciate your time!
> 
> Enjoy!

The two met in secret, easy to do since both held enough authority for their actions to go unquestioned. 

Deep underground, a small and dark room was lit solely by the light from multiple holo screens. It smelled like munitions and dust, particles of the latter floating through the frigid air.

The difference between the two women inside was staggering. 

Sombra sat in front of the screens, cybernetics over the left side of her scalp and down her arms reflecting in the low light. When he eyes weren’t flashing through information, a fidgeting hand combed through the long purple hair tumbling over her right shoulder. 

Widowmaker stood on her left, cold and calculating as she watched each simple motion of Sombra’s hands. The assassin always watched hands; it was a survival mechanism. Unlike the fidgeting hacker, she stood still. If not for the light of the tech, might have blended into the background with her black tactical gear. Darkness was her element, she knew how to become part of it, even when her cyanotic skin showed through gloveless hands and unmasked face.

“Sombra.” Widowmaker’s calculating and dangerous golden eyes looked down at the young Mexican woman, some regard for their semblance of a friendship suppressing a violent urge. “We had an agreement.” 

Sombra could swear she heard a stifled whine in the older French woman’s voice as her blue fingers gripped her left shoulder from above, but the threat was clear.

“Chica. Everything is good.” She glanced up from her hunched position with an animated smile. Multiple holographic screens shifted and flashed beneath fingers tipped with cybernetic enhancements, and she pulled one to the side that showed a live feed of the heat signature in a particular hotel room hundreds of miles away. She touched another holoscreen and moved it through the air, it showed vital statistics, including heartbeat, in case there were doubts. The screens cast an eerie purple glow in the otherwise dark room.“Remember what I told you.”

“Remember what _we discussed_ ,” Widowmaker corrected, flicking her long black ponytail over her shoulder and releasing her hold on the woman.

“The effort you’re putting into retrieving a target like Doctor Ziegler alive--” Sombra glanced back at the screens and whistled softly, “she must have a lot of connections.”

The glare Sombra received could have cut through an armored tank, and when she glanced back up, she immediately threw her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m kidding! I know she does. That’s why I’m helping you.”

“Be careful, Sombra, or Volskaya might _accidentally_ end up with a hole in her head before you get your meeting with her.” 

Widowmaker moved away and leaned against the wall, unflinching against the freezing metal. Closing her eyes only managed to fill her thoughts with fantasies of that kill, and she sighed. Control was critical in this endeavor, and she couldn’t afford to be slipping. Volskaya wasn’t her target. The Russian was simply a bargaining chip.

“Be glad I enjoy a challenge.” Sombra said, indifferent to whether she’d been heard or not. 

\- - -

Angela had been staring at the computer screen from against the far wall. She took down her messy ponytail to relieve the headache building at the top of her spine and threw the cloth hair tie at the computer as though it might explode when contacted. 

The red text from before had disappeared, but nothing new had shown up in place of it.

As she was starting to think nothing might, a flash of purple text, just large enough to read from her few feet away, summoned her.

_**Doctor Ziegler. You’re not in danger anymore.** _

_How am supposed to believe that?_ She groaned, pushing her head back into the wall and wishing she had brought the Valkyrie system with her, if not for the simple fact that it would adjust accordingly to deal with this headache. The nanotech present in her biology moved much slower without the system as a catalyst.

**_I understand that might be difficult to believe. The thing is, you kind of owe me since I saved your life._ **

Angela pulled herself from the wall, anger pushing her fingers to the keys faster than the mysterious persona on the other end could have. **_You’re the one that told me to pick up a bugged device. Seems like you were the one trying to kill me._**

**_¡Carajo! ¡No!_ **

The chat paused for a moment, but indicated multiple attempts at typing something before a message too short to compensate for the length of silence pinged on the screen. **_Listen. This is all extremely complicated and would be easier to explain if we could meet in person._**

**_So you can try to kill me there?_ **

**_Losing encryption of the line in a few seconds. I’m not the one trying to kill you. I need something from you, and the Widowmaker wants you alive. We will be in touch._ **

**LINE DISCONNECTED.**

Angela ripped the foreign device from the computer and threw it against the wall. It had been years since she’d been so angry that the feeling threatened to overwhelm her; she could feel tears burning, blurring the edges of her vision. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror resting over the desk where she was now resting her palms and had to look away. Dark circles were forming like bruises beneath stormy blue eyes, the usual light and enthusiasm sapped from them by the day’s events.

_You act like you’ve never been shot._

Her fingers curled into fists and she had to stop from slamming them. Her intelligence had been insulted, and she walked right into a trap that years of Overwatch experience should have prepared her to avoid. She needed to get out of here, needed to clear her head to think of countermeasures.

There was a sharp, short knock on the door as she turned to start packing a few stray belongings.

_Verdammt._

“One minute!” She finished throwing the last item in the bag in much less than a minute, but took a moment to compose herself. She set the bag on the desk closest to the door before looking through the peephole, rushing to unlock it when she saw who it was. 

“Fareeha! What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

Commander Fareeha Amari of Helix Security, dressed in her glittering blue Raptora armor. Her bronze skin showed a thin sheen of sweat as if she’d run up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, the Udjat beneath her eye dark against her flushed cheeks. The helmet of the Raptora was under the arm tucked professionally at her hip. Typical military stance.

Without her helmet, the golden beads in the young Egyptian woman’s silky black hair clicked when she tilted her head to the side. “You sent me an email earlier today to come meet you. Are you okay?”

Angela tucked her hair behind her ears and laughed, ducking her head from the scrutiny of the commander’s deep brown eyes. “Oh right. It’s been a long day.”

Fareeha shifted her eyes from the unusually nervous doctor into the room. Plenty of combat experience coupled with the harsh white lighting of the room made it easy to spot the glass on the floor and the bullet hole through the curtain. Decades of knowing the doctor had made it equally easy to see through her odd behavior. “You were just leaving then? Shall I wait for you out here?”

Angela sighed and shook her head, standing back to allow room for her guest to walk into the room. “No. You can come in. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

The hacker from earlier must have hijacked her email when she sent them from the conference, somehow knowing that Fareeha would be the most likely to come help out of the hundreds of others in her most private emails. Out of those hundreds, she was also the only one capable of flight. Most likely not an oversight.

Did they factor in Fareeha’s ability to see through even the slightest attempt at a lie? Had they factored in her combat interrogation skills? Was it part of the plan to be forced to tell the soldier everything she knew? Was it part of the plan to force Angela to face the reasons that she was going through with it?

Fareeha wasted no time and stepped into the bathroom to pick the bullet casing off the floor, turning it between her fingers. Her assessment came as a growl under her breath. “Talon.” 

“How can you tell?” Angela double-checked that everything was clear of any bugs and put the bag around her shoulders. Angela moved into the doorway and could see the casual shrug of Fareeha’s shoulders.

“When you’ve taken as many shots in the air as I have, you just learn to recognize them.” 

Angela walked forward, leaning her forehead onto the chest piece of Fareeha’s armor and breathing in the familiar smell of fuel. Though the commander had never gotten the chance to join Overwatch before it was disbanded, plenty of the doctor’s missions had brought her to the Middle East. They were brilliant combat partners, the Valkyrie and Raptora systems working like dancers in a waltz, enhancing both defensive and offensive capabilities of the units graced by their presence. Many times they had saved one another in the thick of battle, and Angela felt the knots of apprehension loosening by the simple fact that such an important friend and confidant was here with her now. Fareeha's strength gave her courage. 

“I’m sorry to put you in danger by helping me.” Her hands clenched around the strap of her bag, thinking about the amount of times she’d heard the hiss of wings as she ascended to the safety of the Raptora. She tried to forget how rockets tearing through human flesh sounded, as the two sounds often blended in the memories. “Again.”

“I’m a soldier. Protecting the people I care about is what I do.” Fareeha touched the tousled blond hair on top of Angela’s head. “Plus, the day in and day out of peace can get boring.”

Angela stepped away and tried to push her away playfully, but Fareeha didn’t budge, smirking down at her attempts. She couldn’t help laughing as she moved to leave the room. “I was just lamenting how bored I was earlier today. Guess that makes two of us then.”

Maybe this whole ordeal wouldn’t be so bad after all.

\- - -

Widowmaker couldn’t afford to constantly monitor Sombra’s mission. She had to—she internally hesitated simply thinking the word— _trust_ her.

She walked soundlessly down the large hall, grace and skill making it so that the metal wrapped around her lower legs didn’t echo in the space. The armor was made to assist in missions of much greater stress than walking around the base, but she wore it anyway. 

The exoskeletal armor made it so that her body didn’t collapse. Physically her body was lithe, muscles built upon years of dancing refined by training and assassination, but her extreme physiological modifications forced an eternal struggle between physical ability and overall health. 

There were advantages to what they had done to her, of course, or they wouldn’t have done it. Slowing her heart so drastically assisted her in her field in many aspects: she did not show in security scans, she could hold her breath for an inhuman amount of time, temperature no longer affected her, she no longer _felt_ anything. It made her mind clear though it should have done the exact opposite. 

What Talon had not considered was the extensive resources they would have to dedicate to keeping their new toy working correctly.

Many nights lately she was kept awake wondering why they had kept her human, yet stripped her of nearly everything that made her so. Her greatest concern wasn’t capture or that she would be taken down by another agent, that wasn't a thought at all. Her concern was that her own body would betray her and give way to the true nature of her affliction, dragging her through a slow and painful death of which she had no control. The thoughts were still new to her, and every bit as concerning now as they were when they first started. She shook them from her mind; those nights she begged for the rare release of sleep, and now was not the time. 

A group of recruits waiting in the open space at the end of the hall didn’t hear her approach and continued to chat among themselves until she cleared her throat. She was not cruel to them, but did expect them to respect her. They quickly snapped to attention, forming a line and saluting her. 

Loyalty did not stem from cruelty, whether Talon said so or not.

It was an ideal that Sombra and herself agreed upon, and was one of many reasons they were now working together, inherent danger in that aside.

If she was being honest, there was no reason not to believe in the Latina’s abilities. There was no way she could possibly fathom being in this situation if it hadn't been for a young hacker being far too interested in how far her hacking skills had come. 

To tamper with Talon’s most valuable weapon was more than a risk; it was a death wish. 

Or it should have been.

\- - -

**5 Years Ago - Calaveras, Mexico**

During her first visit, Sombra spent time noticing the details of the small bar. It was a hole in the wall she’d quite literally stumbled into as she ducked through crowds on the street outside. Her entrance had drawn brief attention, but she’d managed to gather herself enough to order the strongest drink she could think of in the moment. Whether from a certain respect or disinterest, private conversations continued without regard to the new patron.

She had leaned against the bar, breathing in the smell of expensive tobacco and whiskey. Tendrils of smoke curled in the dim yellow lighting of the backbar. The walls were stained a deep blue, the rafters overhead showing the original wood without stain, and were decorated with subtle art pieces each few paces. For such an unassuming place, it catered to a select elite based on a quick assessment.

She approached the same line of red stools decorating the front of the bar that she had long since grown familiar with, having lost count of how many times she’d visited by now.

“Getting into trouble again, mi chiquita?” The bartender chuckled as he prepared Pulque for the woman, knowing the smooth drink always eased her nerves on the rare occasions he saw her. The viscous, milky liquid barely moved as the glass glided across the polished wood to her.

“Donato.” Sombra accepted the drink, smirking. “Ever the saint.”

“That never gets old to you, does it?”

“Never.” 

He wiped beads of water from a glass with a towel he had hanging from his belt. His voice lowered, but his expression remained soft and welcoming. “Do you need anything?”

“Nah, jefe.” Her teasing smile showed over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. “I’m about to test my skills and needed a strong drink before I went ahead with it.”

“Usually you don’t need a drink to convince you. Must be pretty serious.” Donato set the clean glass beneath the bar and picked up another, repeating the task. “Guessing you can’t tell me anything about it?”

“The usual goofing around, but I don’t think you’d want to know even if I could.” Sombra finished the glass in a big gulp and pushed it towards him, her indication that she’d like another. “Maybe after it’s all said and done.”

Silence filled their space for a while after the brief exchange, her tending to the second drink much slower than the first, and him tending to other patrons. This late, most of the conversations were hushed, pieces of them floating in between soft notes of some music overhead. The bar dampened the bustling sounds of the outside streets, still rowdy even close to midnight.

Sombra set a generous payment onto the bar and pushed away from it. With the sour taste of the alcohol coating her throat and calming her nerves, she knew that it was time to put her plans in action. She slipped outside and vanished, a slight shimmer of the cloaking technology in her cybernetics the only indication of her initial presence. In cover, she made her way towards an entrance to the underground Talon base.

They may have hired her, but that wasn’t going to stop her from doing what she wanted. 

No one controlled her. It was her job to control them.

Anything could be hacked. Now she wanted to prove that so could any ** _one_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The exchange about Donato's name is her poking fun that a lot of Mexican saints have had that name. It's their little joke :P
> 
> ***Corrected the original exclamation of Hostia to Carajo per comments correcting me (thank you so much!) not sure if it conveys how I mean it to, but it works i think XD 
> 
> As I continue past this point, I realize this story is becoming a bit of my take on an origin story for Widowmaker. Doesn't seem too much like it right now, and these first chapter have been pretty short, but I'm expecting with all the ideas I have that future stuff will be longer. 
> 
> Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see!
> 
> Thanks again!
> 
> Song this week is Halsey - Control


	3. From The Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a trip back to the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably one of the most important chapters for me. This is where I really start to tackle my idea of what happened to Amelie and how she processed it. This is what I meant when it gets kinda origin story ish. 
> 
> Potential trigger warning: mention of torture through psychological means, known as white room torture.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Leave me thoughts and feel free to bug me at my Tumblr (also Xhuuya there =D)

**7 Years Ago- Dufourspitze, Switzerland**

One might assume that being taken prisoner by Talon would look different than a soundless white room.

They would be wrong.

Amelie Lacroix was no trained soldier, and had initially breathed a sigh of relief when they released her into the room and removed her hood and hand restraints. Blinking to adjust to blinding white light, she noticed that it was no dark and rusty prison cell. There was no hooded soldier waiting to beat her or torture her by some graphic means. 

If she had realized what this would be, she might have asked for that option instead.

Time was lost. They had knocked her unconscious before anything else, covering her head with the hood and ears with a headset filled with a thick static to wake to. The vibrations in her legs once she had finally regained consciousness had given her some indication of traveling, but the knowledge didn’t help.

“Amelie Lacroix, age 26, spouse of Gerard Lacroix.” One of the two soldiers standing at the entrance sounded off, as if she needed to be reminded who she was. He watched her for a moment before continuing. “This will be your new home. We will feed you. If you need to use the facilities, pass this piece of paper beneath the door and a guard will escort you.” He shoved a simple white sheet of paper at her and turned to leave.

The heels of his military boots outside would be the last thing she heard, catching a brief glance at equally white halls outside as the heavy door slammed shut. Locks hidden within clicked into place as a damn near deafening silence followed, crashing into the room like a wave. 

The sound of her heart thrumming replaced the sound of static in her ears as she took in the new surroundings. 

Blinding white wasn’t due only the light. The reason the light was so bright in the first place was because everything was white: her new clothes, the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the tiny bed frame, the sheets, and even the small table with a decorative vase holding a single white lily. She ran her fingers over them, noting the fake rubber surfaces. An intentional nod to her French heritage to use the lis? 

How quaint.

Or it might have been if not for knowledge that this was a prison. 

Now that the door was closed, the pressing silence and lack of moving air suffocated her all at once. There was some ventilation; realistically she knew that she wouldn’t die, but she clutched at her chest anyway. The pressure in the room was much heavier, like being underground, which she very well might be for all she knew. It made the tiny space feel even more like a tomb. With no space to pace, she slumped onto the thin mat that served as a bed, fist tight in the thin fabric of her shirt to attempt grounding herself.

Her inability to draw the deep breaths her lungs craved made the fight to maintain a rational mind much more difficult.

Panic would set in within minutes at this rate. She was already shivering, forcing herself to focus on the fact that it was cold in the room instead of wander to alternatives.

She screwed her eyes shut, desperate to seek out a train of thought that might help her through this.

Gerard, please. She let the shirt fall from her fingers, angry wrinkles spreading through the fabric from pressure and the sweat of her palms. She hugged her knees to her chest and pressed her face into them, unwittingly letting the faint smell of disinfectant in the restricted space influence her memories.

\- - -

_The Switzerland Headquarters was large to the point it made Amelie uncomfortable. She couldn’t help but think it every time they visited, but she managed to hide the fact that she hated it. Gerard was always so happy to see everyone, and she couldn’t lie and say she didn’t like some of the agents there. Still, she preferred her intimate theatres and dance halls over this monstrosity._

_Gerard had gone off for a meeting with Morrison. ‘An emergency,’ he’d said when she’d asked about the ludicrously short notice they’d been given._

_Talon. The usual._

_It no longer came as a surprise, but changing her schedule was no less stressful. Not that she had to come along, but being home alone for an indeterminate amount of time always made her anxious; things always had their way of working out for the worst when she chose that option. Normally an emergency call gave some notice for them to pack and travel during the day, but this was one that was requested same night, a private aircraft coming to pick them up and all. She knew that she wouldn’t be staying home this time._

_The downside of that was, she was left to her own devices for navigating the fortress of the base and had somehow managed to take a wrong turn within minutes. It was more difficult when the halls were empty and she didn’t have agents to follow based on uniform, equipment, or the occasional snippet of conversation. She could usually at least pretend to know where she was going during those daytime visits._

_While she waited on a response from her distress text, she watched snow fall outside the windows. The windows were so large that they made up the entire side of the hall, curving up and into the ceiling, which reminded her of the fancy aquariums back in France. Standing close to them could make you feel that you were actually outside, at least until the snow landed a few feet above and melted, trickling down the heated building._

_She tugged her long sleeves down over her wrists, hugging herself as she shivered. The empty halls still had a bitter chill to them, catching cold gusts of wind each time any of the large doors were opened._

_“Amelie?”_

_Amelie stiffened and turned, surprised that she wasn’t alone. “Oui?”_

_“Are you lost?”_

_A faint blush spread across her cheeks; she looked away and nodded._

_Amelie didn’t immediately recognize the woman, but the name tag on her standard issue lab coat said ‘A. Ziegler’ and she could swear she’d seen the name before. She was thinking the woman must be mad for wearing the short sleeve version of the coat and a simple Overwatch tank beneath it in this weather, but she couldn't attest for how warm the medical bay might be._

_It took a moment, but she remembered who she was._

_This was the new director of medical research, Angela Ziegler. A renowned doctor and scientist, she was heralded as a genius, especially for her work in nanobiology. From reports, she had recently celebrated her thirtieth birthday, yet her bright blue eyes held all the energy and enthusiasm of a recently promoted and eager recruit._

_Amelie hadn’t heard the doctor reply, but realized when she saw the expectant expression. “Pardon?”_

_Angela figured that Amelie spoke French exclusively due to her responses, not thinking that she had previously answered a question presented in English. French was easy enough for her to switch to; due to her Swiss heritage, it was one of many languages in which she was fluent. She repeated herself. “Je suis perdu aussi.”_

_Amelie giggled behind her hand, apologizing quickly when she saw the doctor’s expression fall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect that, Dr. Ziegler.”_

_“How did y-” Angela looked down at the coat Amelie was already pointing to and sighed, removing her glasses to rub at her eyes. “I apologize. I must be more exhausted than I realized.”_

_“Shall we try to find our way to some coffee then?”_

_“That sounds fantastic.”_

_“Then you can tell me how you knew my name, being as that I’m not the one wearing a nametag.” Amelie laughed again, impressed with the warmth that the doctor radiated, and the eagerness of which she fell into step with her._

\- - - 

The old memory was interrupted by the sound of metal, a small opening in the thick door sliding away for the purpose of delivering food. A white plate with plain white rice was dropped into the room with a cup of water. A nagging suspicion curled around each of her thoughts, but logic could not prevail against the low growl from her stomach. It was unclear how long it had been since she last ate, but the hunger was a painful reminder that however long it was, it was too long.

She pushed herself away from the wall and focused on retaining a confident demeanor in case there were cameras. They couldn’t see her be weak, and she couldn’t give them any more ammunition to use against her. She snatched the plate and used her fingers to eat the rice in the most dignified way she could manage in these conditions. 

It felt so dehumanizing. It was dehumanizing. 

She couldn’t help but think it. She knew it was the point.

Her head thunked against the wall as she leaned back again with a sigh.

Doctor Angela Ziegler. 

Why did her mind keep drifting to her?

The doctor was a familiar face every visit after their first meeting in the halls of the Swiss headquarters. They had spent that entire evening talking like they had known each other for years, Angela’s soothing caretaker cadence and infectious laughter enough to make Amelie wish that Gerard had taken a little longer when he finally returned from his meeting. 

The doctor was an angel of a woman, or maybe that similarity came from the appearance of her Valkyrie system. Shining, white with golden wings, the armor was unlike anything Amelie had ever seen. Completely unique to Angela’s individual genius, it was an actual extension of her body via hardlight implants wired throughout her spine. There was no one that could argue with Angela’s determination. She had modified her own body for the sake of her passionate altruism. 

Amelie swore by the third meeting that she could track the good doctor down by the smell of vanilla and latex, if not by the steady and musical timbre of her voice discussing some new technology or medical breakthrough with a colleague. 

Her train of thought waded in and out of the memories, pushing and pulling with the gravity of exhaustion and the oppressing silence of the room. 

There was something...something there in that darkness that could help her. What was it?

It was Angela that taught her the little she did recognize about this situation, if she could just remember that fact.

\- - -

_“Gerard.” Amelie whined into his motionless arm, staring at the machines beeping nearby and hoping for any sign of...anything. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but it wasn’t a comatose husband. “Homme insense.”_

_“Amelie.” Angela’s gentle voice came from behind the door accompanied by a faint knock. She preferred not waking Amelie if she didn’t have to, but wanted to be respectful of her privacy with her loved one. On the occasion she didn’t answer, Angela would move through her examinations and slide out of the room as quickly and quietly as she could._

_Amelie leaned her forehead into Gerard’s arm, pretending to be asleep so that she could at least compose herself in front of her friend. It wouldn’t work; she could feel her shoulders shaking with the remnants of her sobs, but as much as she may have wanted to help, Angela wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t try to force conversation where there was none._

_The doctor pulled a blanket from a nearby shelf and draped it around Amelie’s shoulders, brushing a few fingers through her hair and humming. Amelie didn’t know the song, but it continued as Angela moved through the motions of checking Gerard’s vitals, a holoscreen nearby to input her notes as she worked. Between the ghost of a touch and the song, Amelie found her shoulders relaxing, as though by her voice alone, Angela was somehow taking her grief from her._

_Amelie lifted her head enough to watch Angela work, the look on Angela’s face as she focused entirely unique to the doctor. It was a look of concentration, but that wasn’t apt enough to describe it. The look also sheltered the many emotions the woman felt for those she cared for, and Gerard and Amelie were both very close to her at this point. Her trademark, rubbing the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses, was far more common this past week. The dark circles under her eyes were a solid indication that she hadn’t been sleeping again._

_“You should sleep.” Amelie thought, not realizing she mumbled out loud._

_“As should you, but here we are.” Angela smiled that perfected doctor smile, her experience masking her personal pain in favor of making her patients feel better. She finished her work, brushing imaginary dust off her labcoat as a means to not have to continue making eye contact. Clearing her throat, she started to excuse herself._

_“Will you stay for a while?” The words were out of Amelie’s mouth before she had time to process the thought. Foolish. Angela was busy and she didn’t have time to sit and indulge her in idle chit-chat. She grumbled something that might have sounded like, “Never mind.”_

_“Of course, Amelie.” Angela pulled the free chair in the corner close to Amelie, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I have a little bit of time before I need to continue my rounds. Is there anything I can help you with?”_

_Tears burned the edges of Amelie’s eyes again and she sat up, throwing her arms around Angela’s waist and pushing her face into her shoulder before the sobs started anew. A severe blush might have radiated over her face if this was any normal circumstance, the boldness of being so close not a common occurrence for her._

_Normally, Angela would not blush when a patient’s loved one reacted like this—it wasn’t uncommon—but this was Amelie. The French woman was not known for being overtly friendly. Sure, they had met many times and had a great many laughs and conversations, enough to know that she was not the cold and standoffish prude that many agents thought she was, but this came as a surprise._

_Angela froze, not moving for longer than she would have liked, so startled that her professionalism took a moment to catch up to her heart racing. “It’s going to be alright, Amelie.” Her fingers hesitated, but eventually pulled through Amelie’s thick black hair as she continued her humming. After a long moment, she continued. “I promise. I know he will come back to us soon.”_

\- - -

Gerard had woken up two days later.

Amelie wasn’t sure if she was waking up or not, but she had curled up on her side and her body felt much heavier than she remembered. The thin sheet beneath her face was soaked, squelching and peeling from her cheek as she sat up again.

Amelie rubbed her forearm over her eyes until her cheeks felt raw. She didn’t want to be crying about this all over again.

When the lock of the door echoed loudly in the former silence, she practically jumped off the bed. She forced herself to steady her breathing and steel herself for whatever, or whoever, it might be. 

The same commander from a day ago (had it been a day?) strode in and closed the door behind him. His expression was flat, lacking any emotion beyond a certain duty to uphold. “State your name.”

_What?_

Amelie convinced herself that it was surprise that made her hesitate, but it was hard to excuse a pause long enough to force him to repeat the command. 

“Amelie.” Another too long pause. “Amelie Lacroix.”

He grunted, apparently content with her answer. “Amelie.” The name sounded so hollow when he said it. He looked down at some papers he had in his hand, tapping his thumb against the stack held between his fingers. “Overwatch has fallen. Your husband is dead. You are a widow now.” 

Before she could argue, he turned the papers, showing clear photos of the demolished base in Switzerland. Her mouth snapped shut so fast that her teeth clicked and she nearly bit her tongue. A wary hand reached out to take the papers from him, not knowing that they would be handed over without question.

Scanning through, she saw many familiar names, Gerard and Angela both listed in those confirmed dead. A few more photos: the shattered remains of the base’s large windows, metal support beams bent like fingers grasping for escape from beneath the snow, the silhouettes of aircrafts that hadn’t moved. It must have been a surprise attack. There was no other way.

“Who?” Amelie finally managed a choked sound, stunned when the commander offered her another cup of water. She hadn’t seen him with it and didn’t bother to wonder where it had come from before drinking it, downing it in a single breath.

“Jack Morrison.” He answered, voice still dry of any bias or emotion. “Overwatch was betrayed from within.”

Her eyes snapped up from the papers, but the urge to call him on his lies died when she saw his face. There was no sinister smile, no pain, no amusement, nothing. She couldn’t find a reason in his pure apathy that he would be lying.

“What do you want with me?”

“We know where Morrison is going. We want you to get your revenge.”

“I’m not a soldier.” She might have laughed if there was any space left in the gaping hole of grief she was currently failing to suppress. The taste of copper flooded her mouth as she bit her cheek to stop her tears returning. 

Of course she couldn’t do anything. That had always been the case. Everyone in Overwatch had their place, but she was just the civilian in a world too big and too dangerous for her. It’s why Gerard would always fuss over her, constantly claiming that he was trying to protect her and keep her safe. 

She tried to swallow the bitterness that rose in her throat thinking about it. 

At least Angela had tried to help. It may have just been a woman understanding what it was like to be looked down upon by male superiors, but the hushed moments of the doctor teaching her self-defense were a treasure to her. Unfortunately, knowing how to counter a tackle wasn’t helpful in this situation either.

Not realizing she’d lost herself in her thoughts again, she was shocked out of them by the man’s booming voice. The sound after all the silence almost physically hurt. She couldn’t help but wonder if normal volume would now always sound this bad, her ears somehow permanently altered by exposure to silence. 

“I’ll give you time to consider your options. Anyone can be a soldier with the right motivation.” He turned back to the door. With a hand currently gripping the handle, he looked over his shoulder at her, the hint of emotion finally showing in his face. It was hard to read, but seemed...tired. “Listen. The way I see it, you have two options. One is to get out of here, as painful as it might be now to face what’s on the outside, and the other is to rot away in this cage. Choice seems pretty clear to me.”

The door clicked shut again, the sound of the lock adding a bit of finality to what she’d heard.

Amelie wasn’t sure how many seconds(/minutes/hours/days?) that passed before she screamed until she lost her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **To clarify here: Talon is using techniques against her already, but she doesn't recognize it (future Photoshop is legit though? XD) No one is dead...yet.
> 
> Sorry if the back and forth in time is a bit confusing, but I was aiming for it to be a bit uncomfortable, similar to how she's feeling about it happening. Let me know if you have thoughts about it!
> 
> Song for this week was Linkin Park. I forgot how much I loved their first two albums. Brings me back lol


	4. Switchback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela briefs Fareeha. A glimpse of a young hacker toying with a weapon. The development of a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo boy things are pretty chaotic. I'm actually aiming for that to be how it reads. A little bit disjointed, a bit erratic, and almost uncomfortable. Imagine how Amelie felt as she essentially lost her mind. 
> 
> Anyway!
> 
> Enjoy and comments/kudos are super appreciated as usual!

**Present Day - Zürich, Switzerland**

Angela requested the brief stay in Zürich so that she could get the Valkyrie system and a few other important things from her home there. Fearing intrusion, the words of the rogue operative that reached out to her still fresh in her mind, she was surprised to find her small apartment the same way she left it. While Angela packed, Fareeha searched for anything that might give them any clues or more information. The commander was equally surprised to not find any indications of the enemy.

Though it was a short trip to the base of Uetliberg mountain, it was much easier to travel with the wings of the Valkyrie humming in tandem with the jets of the Raptora. 

They flew above the city first, easily lost in the lights of nightlife, the distant sounds of music like a dark heartbeat. Angela couldn’t help but follow the lines of the Canal as she glanced back at her home in reverence. She never took the time to really appreciate it, but it surprised her to admit that she would miss it.

Angela normally enjoyed making the hike up the mountain, but her decision to land them at the base was more practical, as the blue and white glint of armor in the full moon would be a bit too obvious outside the city lights. Unclear about how much discretion was really needed in her situation, she decided that assuming the worst would be the safest option.

They walked without talking and, aside from an occasional owl call, appreciated the natural silence. The dirt beneath the trees squelched under heavily armored steps as they moved closer to the peak, the snow melting earlier that day and not quite cold enough to turn to ice in the night. Snow fell in clumps from the pines, the smell of sap fresh with each movement.

Angela was pleased with the trip, but more thankful for the Valkyrie system already compensating for the severe exhaustion crippling her body. As they reached the peak and the Uto Kulm hotel, she considered running to close the distance. Fareeha’s hand on her shoulder grounded her, a smirk on the young woman’s face daring her to think she would be sleeping before telling her the entirety of what she knew. Angela kicked herself for not talking about it sooner, but knew that Fareeha would expect a full briefing either way; it wouldn’t have saved her much time to gloss over it earlier.

Angela spoke hurriedly with the owner in their native Swiss German. The woman looked older than the mountain itself, but stood with a stance that even a drill sergeant couldn't insult. Her white hair framed bright green eyes that regarded the two women critically, shifting between Angela in her face and Fareeha standing a few steps back. The look was searching for any lies about what brought them to her residence so ridiculously late, and in armor that screamed illegal activity, but Angela’s explanation must have sufficed. Fareeha only caught a few words, but didn’t know enough to understand the exchange. Angela would brief her on that as well as the day’s events once they reached their shared room and had a moment to get settled. 

The space was small to hold two full suits of armor, but they managed to strip down in a comfortable silence. Fareeha had more pieces to remove, but still took a moment to help lift the large wings from the Valkyrie, earning her a grateful smile from Angela. Each wore a different version of the same simple black flightsuit beneath, Angela’s standard issue from her past in Overwatch, and Fareeha inher Helix fatigues.

They sat on opposite ends of a small table in the room, allowing a good few moments to catch their breath and process the situation now that they weren’t scrambling to react to it. Fareeha poured water into two of the short hotel glasses, sliding one to Angela as she sat down and sighed with relief as she relaxed against the back of the chair. 

Angela spoke first, knowing that Fareeha would give her all the time in the world, but wanting to get the last 22 hours off her chest so that maybe she could sleep. It was late, Angela hadn’t slept well the night before the convention, and something told her that sleep would be a commodity in the near future. As much as she wanted to rush, Angela gave a thorough report.

“I see.” Fareeha nodded, closing her eyes and resting her chin on her knuckles as she considered all the information she’d just been given. Lines in her brow painted a silent picture of the string of thoughts, piecing together the full story from the small details that had been missing. After a long moment, she opened her eyes again, the light of the moon reflecting in them as she looked over the horizon outside the window. “So years after Overwatch disbands, the brilliant Dr. Ziegler becomes a target again quite suddenly.”

Angela shrugged, trying to ignore the blush creeping over her cheeks any time the captain complimented her, which was difficult as Fareeha practically worshipped her with her words. Ever since the bright-eyed Egyptian toured the Overwatch base as a child, Angela could never escape the way she doted on her, first as an idol and then later as a close friend. It wasn’t something Angela disliked, but being married to her work made her awkward when being praised by anyone with more than a simple professional connection. More than once she’d been told it was actually an adorable trait to have. Still, the acute feeling of color rising in her face momentarily replaced thoughts of her exhaustion.

“Something has to be happening within Talon.” Angela rubbed her face, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples. She drained the rest of her glass in slow gulps, the nagging voice of her medical experience warning her against dehydration. “We can speculate after sleep. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“Here I was thinking you were accustomed to late nights, doctor.” Fareeha stood, downing the rest of her water like a shot, and offered her hand to help Angela up. 

“Been a long time since the middle of my work day involved an overdose of adrenaline as a bullet nearly misses my head.” Angela took the offered hand and let Fareeha guide her to one of the two beds, stopping her before she tried to go as far as tucking her into it. “I can still handle myself though.”

The statement sounded harsh and she wished she could take it back the moment it left her lips, watching Fareeha’s hand drop like she’d been burned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that I don’t appreciate you being here, Fareeha.”

“No, I apologize.” Fareeha stepped back and sat on the edge of the other bed, the old metal frame squeaking in protest. “I forget at times that you were in Overwatch, and you are a perfectly capable soldier if you need to be.” She pushed a hand through her hair and leaned back on her hands, the words spilling from her before she could even think about what she was saying. “I guess I’ve just always wanted to protect you. You’re...important.”

If the normal color had returned to Angela’s pale skin, bright red replaced it very quickly, and she scrambled to pull the blanket over her face. The reaction drew a chuckle from the commander and Angela groaned. “I swear you know what you’re doing when you decide to be sentimental like that.”

“Possibly.” Fareeha grinned, aware that she’d always been able to fluster the doctor with her compliments, but never hearing Angela admit to it herself. “I don’t hear you requesting that I stop.”

Angela grumbled something incoherent, muttering in German as she shifted under the blanket. Of course she loved the compliments and wouldn’t ask such a beautiful woman to stop with them, but part of her wondered if it wasn’t selfish of her to indulge. She loved Fareeha dearly, but had spent decades fighting the idea of having relationships beyond friendships. The fear of losing someone important was hard enough if they were a friend, she’d experienced it plenty, they both had as an unfortunate side effect of their field, but as something more than a friend? A brief memory of a certain French woman threatened the otherwise innocent banter, and she felt her jaw clench painfully.

“Let’s get some sleep.” Fareeha said it softly, reading the sudden shift in the air better than anyone else could. It was something she hated to admit being accustomed to. Her affection for the doctor never seized due to it, but she desperately wished she could be the one to help her forget the pain of the past. 

Now that past was alive and well, apparently deciding that being a memory wasn’t enough, and actively seeking its’ victim.

If it didn’t think it would have to answer to Fareeha, well, she aimed to let it be known that getting through her and to Angela would be no easy task.

\- - -

Hacking a mental conditioning regimen had been the most difficult task Sombra had ever attempted, yet was proving to be more rewarding than she had initially thought. Originally, it had just been another challenge to her, another attempt to stick it to those that thought themselves safe. A young mind with no real ambition forced into considering the future of her decision, now partnered to one of the deadliest assassins in the world and actively engaged in a years-long mutiny that could get both of them killed. 

Would it be any fun if there weren’t some stakes in all of this?

The medical facilities in Talon’s Swiss base was buried much further underground than the ones in Mexico. Already cold metal halls of the main base descended into even darker gray and freezing temperatures. Clouds formed from each breath, and she tucked her hands into her floor length coat. If not for it being such a high risk, she would have placed one of her translocators to shorten the time it took to secretly and safely get to the base. However, the way in was so convoluted that the security on the actual door was minimal, and a quick wave of her hand had the metal door open quickly.

Maybe one day she would tell Talon about all the inconsistencies in their internal security. That was, after all, her job. 

Probably not though.

The lab was a boring place. Medical tech wasn’t something of interest to her, and it wasn’t what Sombra was after. Within the room was a large containment tube, full of a dark liquid concoction that kept the Widowmaker alive and operating effectively. At first, it had startled her how many wires and attachments they connected to the woman’s fairly small frame, but eventually she had found benefit in it, the setup being almost entirely electronic in nature. Sombra had also learned that as small as she was, the assassin wielded an otherworldly strength.

As Sombra had done a thousand times before, she replaced the image feedback in the security cameras to an empty loop, correcting the date and times for the replacement video. Most of the security tech was her responsibility anyway, but in case someone got nosy, she wasn’t taking chances. To monitor the feedback, she kept a holoscreen up with the live footage of what anyone would see, pacing through the room to make sure there were no glitches in the camouflage. 

She moved the bar in her tongue over her teeth, concentrating on the adjustments being made to the weekly reconditioning of the Widowmaker, manually altering the code for the process over multiple screens. Though she had been doing this for years now, it was a long and delicate process that had to be handled very carefully. The reason it had taken so long in the first place was due to how little could be changed without triggering an alarm in the system, and she wasn’t about to come this far only to make an amateur mistake as things were finally falling into place.

Once satisfied, she moved forward to the glass, tapping a finger gently against it. Lines of bright energy flowed over the surface from the point of contact, reflecting in the dark liquid and silhouetting the outline of the assassin. Sombra nearly fell backwards when she saw that Widowmaker’s eyes were already open, watching her as the lines of light disappeared around the curves of the glass. 

That wasn’t normal. 

Sombra glanced at her holoscreens, trying to decipher how she could already be awake. The medications had been adjusted in advance to lessen the mind wipe, but Sombra didn’t chance altering sedatives as well. Talon had to use such low amounts that it would be too obvious to remove them; it’d be easier to use electrical currents to wake her from sleep instead. Sheer willpower should not have been enough to enable her to forcibly fight out a drug-induced sleep.

“Alright, alright. Hold on a second,” Sombra muttered under her breath, cybernetics flashing as her hands swept over the displays. A nervous hand smoothed the long half of her hair midway through her movements, and she used the same motion to touch the glass, lighting it once more. The cold, golden stare made her shiver even when she was prepared for it, but she didn’t avert her eyes this time. Sombra rose to meet the challenge that gaze presented. 

_What are you remembering this time, amiga?_

\- - -

**5 Years Ago - Talon Lab, Mexico**

After so many intimate dances with frigid water and wires, a bitter relationship with darkness had become Widowmaker’s reality. Part of her desperately tried to remember when she stopped fighting. Another part didn’t want to remember. Yet another wondered what she was fighting for in the first place. Each was silenced when awareness was stripped from her again and again. The little voice whispering sweet reminders of a past life slowly settled into dormancy. 

After years in that blanket of darkness, submerged in those chemical waters, the tiny voice suddenly came back. 

At first she didn’t recognize it, trying to ignore it, and when that failed, willed it to leave her in what had become her comfortable silence. It was like trying to delay waking up for work. There was no way she could know that it hadn’t been as simple as dozing off, or that it had been more than two years since the treatment began.

It was an annoyance.

She was suddenly aware of the wet sensation moving past her knuckles, though for what reason she could only feel her fingers, she didn’t know. There was a steady beep from far away, sounding like it was underwater. An unsettling amount of pressure in her throat that made it difficult to breathe. She decided that she wouldn’t, and it did seem as though she didn’t need to. She decided that opening her eyes was also unnecessary, since she couldn’t seem to manage that either.

A small voice, hushed, young. “Don’t worry, chica. I’ll start you off slow.”

There was a long silence before the voice returned, a bit timid yet excited. The sound was hard to trace, muffled by the same noise as the insistent beeping, like she was trying to listen after dunking her head into bath water. 

“Can you tell me your name?”

_Agent 36. Widowmaker. Talon Operative. No current objectives. Mandatory medical repression while inactive._

“Amelie?” 

Widowmaker thrashed in the water (so it was her that was underwater). She reached up and ripped the obstructing tube from her throat, leaving a gaping wound in the skin (damn, shouldn’t that hurt more than it did?). Frantic eyes searched for the source of the voice while worthless limbs flailed, failing to move through the dark water (had she forgotten how to swim?). There was no voice to call out, instead water flooded her lungs as her hands slid over the inside of the glass (was she going to die?)

“Oh shit.” The small voice was panicked now, spitting a multitude of Spanish curses. “Okay, okay. Maybe that was too soon. Hold on. I can fix this. Shh, shh.” It sounded more like she was comforting herself.

There was a series of noises, more curses, and the water around her started swirling gradually.

Chemicals calmed her, her body going limp, and she drifted into that familiar darkness once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **To clarify my current HC timeline: 7 years ago was when Amelie was first kidnapped to a mountain facility near the Switzerland headquarters, they moved her to Mexico when that base was attacked, Sombra became involved 5 years ago, she has since been involved and was included when the base and Widowmaker were transferred back to the Alps. I'll try to be as clear as possible with where in the timeline things are, but feel free to bug me about clarifying it and I will.
> 
> Song this week is Celldweller.
> 
> My wonderful partner is a blessing for the massive editing she does for me.
> 
> Lemme know what you think!


	5. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the circle completes itself. How she got here and how she molded herself to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late! My lovely wife and editor won't let me post until she reads over it. I swear her status about using her Master's degree in editing for fanfiction has far too many likes.
> 
> This one was a fun one for me to write. Let me know what you think!
> 
> (Using <<< transition for going backwards in time, and >>> for forwards =D)

**7 Years Ago - Swiss Alps**

 

The guards checked on her periodically, food came at what seemed to be irregular intervals, and fitful sleep came most frequently. 

 

Each time she woke up, Amelie would scratch a line into the wall. She’d succeeded in both making a confusing array of shapes on the wall and grinding each of her formerly perfect nails into jagged edges, but did absolutely nothing for her sense of time like she hoped to. Realistically, she made it worse, as she could no longer imagine that each time she fell asleep was a consistent amount of time. She could be asleep for thirty seconds or thirty hours, and she’d have no inkling as to which when she pressed into the cold concrete.

 

With no logic about the passage of time, it was difficult to distinguish between reality, fever dreams, memories, and nightmares. Rationale had long since abandoned her, leaving a comfortable numbness in its absence. 

 

She ran a palm over the curved indentations and sighed, no longer bothering to count how many she’d made. 

 

<<<

 

_ Angela held Amelie at arm’s length and ran her hands up and down her arms, stopping to grip her shoulders while she looked up at her. “Ami?”  _

 

_ “I’m fine, Ange.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her arms wrapped defensively around her waist. Angela would see through it easily, and the lie crumbled immediately knowing that. “I just thought…” She shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to hide the fact that her voice was cracking. “I thought moving out here would make it easier.” _

 

_ It wasn’t the first time Angela had comforted her friend through this, and it wouldn’t be the last. The last few months had been very difficult, especially since Gerard’s brush with death. Jack had requested, practically insisted, that Gerard move to the base so that Angela could continue to check on him. A month-long coma could make any commander worry. The problem was that the two soldiers were not always the most reasonable people. _

 

_ Gerard had steadfastly refused until Jack made it an order. It was in the best interest of his squadron, and eventually Gerard was able to see that, but the numerous meetings and arguments had created a bitter rift in their friendship. While the unease between the two commanders was near palpable, less obvious was the effect that it was having on Amelie. She had eventually quit her jobs in France, leaving all of her work behind to move to Switzerland and support her husband.  _

 

_ “He hasn’t…?” Angela started, always terrified of the answer she might receive to the unfinished question. This type of turmoil could often bring out the worst in people. She had seen good soldiers, good people, turn into monsters, and she worried endlessly for those that chose to attempt romance in tumultuous environments like Overwatch. No one ever seemed to think they needed support, too enamored with the idea that just because they knew what they were “getting into,” they would never need help themselves. _

 

_ “No, he hasn’t.” Amelie shook her head, fists clenching on her hips. “But. I still want you to give me those lessons.” _

 

_ >>> _

 

Amelie woke with her fists clenched, mirroring the dream, knuckles white from the strain. She had to flex her fingers slowly to ease the blood back. She rolled onto her back and rubbed her hands together until the pins and needles subsided, staring up at the ceiling as she tried to blink away the memory.

 

It all felt so distant, so foreign. Like the images and feelings belonged to someone else entirely. 

 

Tears would no longer come. She felt nothing more than an overwhelming apathy with an undercurrent of anger, over something that happened that she couldn’t quite remember anymore.

 

The door clicked, and she turned her attention to it as it slid open.

 

A commander she recognized now, could almost call a regular, was the one visiting today. He was dressed in full black tactical gear instead of his standard uniform, but the helmet and goggles didn’t cover enough of his face for her to miss the lines she had memorized by now. 

 

“Agent 36.” He flapped a stack of papers in his hand, passing the top sheet to her.    
  
She took the sheet, that unfamiliar feeling of rage flaring in her chest when she saw the photo in the top corner. It was oddly the most pleasant sensation she felt that she could recall, maybe due to feeling anything at all. She wondered if she didn't always harbor this anger towards Jack Morrison.

 

He tilted his head, watching her reaction. 

 

She looked up at him, face blank of anything she might have felt. “Is it time?”

 

He passed her a uniform that looked similar to the gear he was wearing. “Yes.”

 

<<<

 

_ “You can utilize your dancing abilities to your advantage.” Angela paced back and forth, speaking professionally as though their private meeting was a public lecture. Her hand moved over her cheek as she considered her options, getting lost in thought for the upteenth time that evening. _

 

_ “Ange.” Amelie smirked and moved forward, thinking that she could surprise the doctor with a takedown of some sort, not that she knew how to properly do that. It was, after all, what she was there to learn. Either way, an attempt might impress her instructor, or at least that’s what she thought. _

 

_ The moments between her hands contacting Angela and her back on the floor were no more than a blur.  _

 

_ A stray strand of Angela’s blond hair tickled her nose from above, and she grinned up at her. “That didn’t work at all.” _

 

_ There was a brief silence before both started laughing, Angela sitting up and clutching her stomach as her laughs escalated to almost hysterical. “Oh, Ami.” She gasped between laughing. “I didn’t expect you to try that. I’m so sorry.” _

 

_ Amelie continued to lay on the ground, staring up at the ceiling with a private smile lighting her features. “It was worth it to hear that laugh, if nothing else.” _

 

_ Angela stopped laughing then, turning her attention back to Amelie. Her mouth opened and closed, attempting to work through a response, but finding none. It was hard to tell how much of the heat in her cheeks was due to the laughter, and she tried to fight the urge to argue something about her laugh not being that great. _

 

_ Amelie saved Angela the trouble of trying to think of a reply. She finally pushed herself up, tugging her shirt back over her exposed stomach and clearing her throat. “That was a good example of why I need your help.”  _

 

_ The motion didn’t go unnoticed, Angela’s eyes drifting to the pale skin before reaching a hand out to be helped up. “Fair enough. Let’s start from the beginning then.” _

 

_ “Yes, let’s.” Amelie smiled mischievously, the look somewhat sinister on a normally stoic face. “You should know I take challenges very seriously, Ange. I won’t quit until I get you flat on your back.” _

 

_ >>> _

 

“Agent 36. Stand still, please.” A woman’s voice from behind a full-face mask, amplified mechanically to be heard over the sound of the wind at this altitude. The mountaintop was covered in powder snow, the silhouettes of neighboring peaks barely visible through dense cloud cover. It didn’t feel very different than being inside of it, freezing cold and covered in the same bright white light.

 

Amelie followed the order, but shifted her eyes to the guard that escorted her down the white halls and out onto the cliff’s edge, choosing to ask him because he was familiar. “Why 36?”

 

“Placeholder,” he answered cryptically, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Take a deep breath. This will hurt.”

 

This air was so thin in comparison to the heavy air underground. Amelie wanted to tug the jacket tighter around her withered frame, and her teeth would be chattering if not for how hard she was clenching her jaw. Taking a breath at all was a chore, and taking a deeper one felt impossible, but the hiss of a syringe and a sharp pain in her neck made her immediately regret not taking it like she was told. It took all the effort she could muster to not flinch away.

 

“Don't worry. We're going to help take away all the negative things you've been feeling.” The woman took the needle out of her neck and tucked it back into its sleek black case. 

 

The woman’s voice was friendly, even considering the mechanical nature of it, and it reminded Amelie of a time that seemed so far away now. If she could think clearly about it, she would be livid that they were emulating Angela’s voice. However, it was soothing enough that she didn't focus too much on it, barely able to stop herself from leaning into the gentle touch that cleared the blood and liquid away from her shoulder. As her vision blurred, she couldn’t help but wonder why disinfectant always made her think of Angela; it wasn’t though doctors used different antiseptics.

 

<<<

 

_ “You’re far too pleased with yourself, Ami.” Angela grinned from beneath her, face red with the effort of trying to remove the arm pressed over her throat.  _

 

_ “Shouldn’t you be happy I’ve improved?” Amelie remained straddled over the doctor, using her thighs to hold Angela’s arms to her sides. She leaned her weight forward to press her arm down, her other hand balancing on Angela’s shoulder, further restricting any movement. There were times before that Amelie got too ahead of herself, and she usually ended up flipped and submitting before she realized the error of her overconfidence. She wasn’t allowing this to be one of those times. _

 

_ “Only took you a few months,” Angela teased, earning her a bit more pressure to the hold. Her fingers drummed on the mat, not quite submitting. A small taunt while she searched the hazel eyes looking down at her, the faint puffs of warm air tickling her cheeks. Her heart was racing, the sound of blood pounding in her ears replacing the soft sounds of ragged breaths. She searched Amelie’s face, trying to read the way her expression seemed both irritated and amused. _

 

_ Amelie decided to play dirty, taking advantage of a weakness she learned the past few months. It was easy enough to see that the good doctor had quite the crush on her and had done well to keep it under control out of respect for their friendship, but Amelie enjoyed testing how far her teasing could go. She leaned down,  pressing her lips to the shell of Angela’s ear, “Submit to me, mon ange.”  _

 

_ Angela tensed under her, body practically vibrating with the force of her restraint, and tapped her hand on the mat a few times. “Alright, alright. You win,” she whined, trying to roll away from Amelie. “Let me up.” _

 

_ Amelie did move her arm from Angela’s throat, but braced it on the other shoulder. She leaned down to rest their foreheads together. Her eyes closed as they both inhaled, though the sound of each breath was very different. When she opened her eyes again, she sat up, her grip on Angela’s shoulders relaxing. She regarded those blue eyes, a bit stormy in their current state, staring up with something that resembled fear. It was a struggle not to look away from them. “Is there self-defense for matters of the heart, Doctor?” _

 

_ >>> _

 

Amelie shook the haze away, noticing the location had not changed during her blackout. The female guard’s hands were braced on her shoulders, holding her up from where she had started to fall forward. She found the face gazing at her from behind tinted goggles surprisingly comfortable. A warmth spread out and away from the point in her neck, making the cold much more bearable. She felt crazy, but as the darkness at the edge of her vision dissipated, she swore she could see better than before. The woman’s hands slowly lowered after confirming her ability to stand, but part of her desperately begged for the contact to return, almost falling forward into the touch again.

 

“I feel strange,” Amelie admitted, her tongue too heavy through the simple sentence. She rubbed a hand over her face, hyper aware of how the thick cloth of her gloves felt against the small expanse of skin not covered by her mask. Her breathing was more even, slower and steadier, similar to when she was at her prime athleticism as a dancer. Once her vision finished clearing, she found the light much more irritating than before and squinted as she raised a shielding hand to her brow.

 

“That’s normal,” the woman answered, shooting a glance to stop the male from answering the same way. It wasn’t clear why she insisted on being the one to speak, but Amelie preferred it that way. “Here. Let’s get you the rest of your gear and we can get you started.” She took Amelie’s arm in hers and guided her to another black case, patting her arm as she released her to kneel in front of it.

 

The snaps came open easily, revealing a sleek hardlight sniper rifle and visor. They looked standard issue as far as Amelie could tell, but she was not versed in military weapons. Angela had showed her the Caduceus blaster briefly, but was not a fan of teaching violence and had refused to teach more than the basics. Lessons consisted of mainly how to disarm someone with one and pistol-whip them with it rather than actually shoot it herself. Of course she had seen agents practicing in her many tours of the base, especially after they had moved to Zurich, so she had some scattered knowledge.

 

“This.” The guard picked the rifle up with reverence, holding it out in open palms for Amelie to take. “Is a tool. It is shaped as much by you as you are by it. It may even take different forms as you progress, but for now we can take our time to see what works for you.” 

 

“Thanks,” Amelie muttered, lowering the hand shielding her eyes to take the weapon, thinking it would take both hands, shocked when she was able to hold it easily in one. 

 

It made her feel immensely powerful, more so than anything ever had, and she wondered about the logic behind handing a prisoner a powerful weapon when there was only two guards there. What if she chose to fight her way away from them? They must have figured she wouldn’t though. She didn’t know where she was, how to use the weapon, where her target was, nothing. They knew she had settled on a plan of revenge, and they knew they had the information she needed to move forward with it. Was she really even a prisoner anymore?

 

“The visor will help your eyes adjust to the light.” The guard waved her hand at the case. “Look to the West and you should see your target. Aim there first.”

 

Amelie reached to the case and slipped the visor on, almost physically sick from the initial overwhelming input of data. Her stomach flipped as her brain tried to process the multiple visuals displayed to her eyes, and she leaned against the rifle like it was a cane. She took a settling breath and worked through the five different displays, eventually able to adequately settle on the primary display directly in front of her. When she finally lifted the rifle, the barrel automatically extended, and the image on the visor compensated for the magnification of the scope. The target was easy enough to find, and she should have been surprised with how equally easy it was to hit it with her first shot.

 

The guards both whistled, lesser versions of the visor tech built into goggles allowing them to see the results of the shot. They shared a private nod behind Amelie, and the male descended back into the base. He would give the higher-ups a brief summary, and she would bring the full report when the day ended.

 

“Excellent, Agent 36.” The guard moved closer, grounding Amelie with touch again, wrapping her fingers too eagerly around the forearm that would tense when the trigger was pulled. “Take another shot.”

 

When the next shot hit as smooth as the first, Amelie couldn’t help but smile. This sort of power trip could get addictive, and she suddenly understood why so many of the snipers at Overwatch spent all their free time at the range.

 

Overwatch.

 

A sharp pain shot directly through her temple, and the rifle clattered to the ground as she gripped her head in her hands. Her thoughts spiralled out of control, a mass of incoherent images and ideas: betrayal, violence, her husband and best friend dead, the base destroyed, kidnapped, saved, trained, revenge.

 

There was that soothing voice again, those hands moving over her arms in comfort. She didn’t notice another stab in her neck, and she didn’t fight the darkness as it took her.

 

<<<

 

_ “Everyone has a breaking point.” Angela was leaning back against her desk in the med bay, looking up over her glasses as she lectured Amelie again. The statement was purposefully vague, the doctor trying not to sound bitter as she said it. It had been weeks since their last true meeting, the one that still made Angela’s heart race uncomfortably when she thought about it.  _

 

_ Their communication was limited to brief chats through text or a passing word here and there within the base. It was made easier by Gerard being back from a long mission, taking a full month of leave so that he and Amelie could travel back to France and spend time together. Angela should have been happy for them. She hadn’t worked through her feelings and knew she shouldn’t take that out on her friend, but logic wasn’t exactly a prevailing force when the words she remembered stirred emotions that didn’t answer to her analyzing.  _

 

_ “Is that part of my next lesson, or you trying to tell me something?” Amelie leaned against the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest, a playful grin struggling to cover the pain buried in the question.  _

 

_ Angela sighed, tapping her fingers on the edge of the desk. “Both?” She struggled to find words to take the edge off the answer, but was stopped by Amelie raising a hand. _

 

_ “Let’s talk over dinner. My treat, of course.” Her arms lowered as she stepped forward, pulling Angela into a stiff hug. She spoke softly into her disheveled golden hair. “I owe you an apology, Ange.” _

 

_ Angela sighed again, a defeated sound as she failed to hold the guarded posture, deflating in Amelie’s arms. She knew it was worthless to argue with her once she’d made up her mind like that. “Yeah, yeah. Save it for dessert. At least that might make you sound sweeter.” It took an immense amount of effort to pull herself away. The lavender perfume would linger in her memory for days, but she managed to smirk. “Combat interrogation techniques are a bit of a heavy topic for dinner, you know.” _

 

_ “I doubt it will take the months that your last lesson did.” Amelie moved back, plopping herself into the loveseat in the office. “I have a few hours. Maybe you could mix it into our usual chatter?” _

 

_ “It’s like you know it’s easy for me to get lost in a subject while I’m working.” Angela dusted her glasses on her shirt and picked up the holopad from her desk. “It’s actually not far from what I’m currently working on, what with studying Talon for Gerard and Jack. Are you sure you want to hear about it?” _

 

_ >>> _

 

Amelie would question being held here, alone and ignorant of her circumstances, but Agent 36 didn’t care as much. 

 

Each time she woke, she was greeted with the same sensation of minute pains through her limbs as the circulation returned. She always slept curled tight to herself, as if it might keep away the cold, heavy air of the room.

 

She sat up and swayed, waiting for her senses to compensate. Her fingers reached for the raised skin around her neck, tracing the outline of two entry points, a tenderness that bordered on pain radiating from them. Submitting to the idea that she was now an experiment, a toy of sorts, she couldn’t help but wonder why it didn’t bother her. Worse, she almost felt grateful. It wasn’t a way to live, but at least she had an objective. 

 

A reason to live? Maybe not. But definitely a reason to not give up yet. A defense mechanism, the sliver of rational mind screamed, hushed quickly by the metaphorical coffin that she buried her former self in. She could mold herself to this new image, become what they wanted, be a good little soldier until she achieved what she set out to do. 

 

Nothing to lose, everything to gain.

 

Everyone had a breaking point.

 

<<<

 

_ “You’re absolutely certain you don’t want a ride? _ ”  _ Angela leaned from the hovercraft’s window, pouting slightly. _

 

_ “I would like the walk to consider the things you’ve told me, I think.” Amelie cupped her hand over a cigarette to light it, protecting the flame from the wind and earning a scowl from the doctor through the first long drag of it, which came before the the match had even finished being extinguished. She loved the smell of matches. They shared that trait, though Angela would never condone smoking as a reason to smell them; she’d much rather light candles or something equally antiquated. _

 

_ “Did you want me to walk with you? You really don’t have to think too much about these things. I told you the combat interrogation and torture methods was a terrible dinner subject,” Angela rambled, the pout turning into full blow distress. Part of her wondered if she could use a cigarette herself. _

 

_ Amelie reached a finger over to place it softly over Angela’s lips. “Hush.”  _

_ She blew smoke to the side, watching it drift away through the cool night air, lost in the bright signs of the restaurants nearby. She glanced to the side, smiling the way she reserved for these small moments with Angela, and privately entertaining the fantasies of kissing the lips pressed against her skin. “You taught me how to take care of myself, right? I’ll be fine.” _

 

_ Amelie waited until Angela’s craft was long out of view, tossing the butt of the cigarette down and crushing it beneath her heel. Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her peacoat, she started the walk to her apartment, willing the rain she could smell in the air to hold off for a little longer. _

 

_ How could she have known that Talon had been watching her every move until they had the opening they needed? How could she have known she essentially walked directly into their hands? How could she utilize self-defense against the dart that buried itself in her shoulder, bringing a swift sleep in the form of a powerful tranquilizer?  _

 

_ In sum, she couldn’t.  _

 

_ She crumbled to the ground, feeling the faint rain hit her cheek as she lay helpless while hushed voices distorted above her. If she could have laughed, she might have, the irony of her overconfidence not lost in her brief moment of awareness.  _

  
_ Maybe she hadn’t learned anything after all. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated (I won't lie, they pretty much give me life, I love them so much lol)
> 
> And yes, Amelie was hella cheesy and she knows it.
> 
> Song is Bullet for my Valentine - Breaking Point 
> 
> || Please don't test my (Patience)  
> My short fuse you don't wanna ignite,  
> Do not scratch the (Surface)  
> And wake the beast cause it's ready to fight ||


	6. Phantom Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue, return, release, regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This completes my view of the back story, yay! Part of me really loves it, and another wishes I was a better writer. Then again, nothing is every good enough cause I always remember that I can get better. It's a curse lol

_ Agent 36. _

 

_ … _

 

_ Agent 36, wake up. _

 

She stirred, the piercing sound of a siren formerly lost in a medicated sleep now enough of a problem to make her curl further into herself to escape it. Her hands over her ears did nothing to ease the volume. 

 

The sound was so permeating that her teeth ached, and she could feel the vibrations of it in her head and over her skin as she stared down at the twisting folds in her sheets. They had finally given her more, when she’d let slip that she was cold some time after her first trip to the practice range. Still, she did not feel warmth. Everything was cold; even the water they used to bathe her felt like melted snow. It didn’t quite occur to her that it was strange when her breaths stopped clouding her visor, plumes of warmth formerly obvious signs of the frigid conditions. She figured that she had developed some form of tolerance to it.

 

That aside, she was considering the idea of wrapping the cloth around her head to make another layer of protection against the siren’s screeching when the door opened. It wasn’t a controlled motion, swinging open more forcefully than usual. Everything, for a while now, had become an exercise in perception, and strengthening that sense. Little differences stood out.

 

“Amelie!” 

 

The group was far too large to fit into the small room, but a man, clearly the leader among them, stepped forward. He was young, dressed in a standard raid uniform—black flight suit, matte black armor over the chest and arms, a tactical helmet covering most of his head and face, and more armor hidden beneath a thick, floor-length coat. It didn’t look all that different from what she was used to seeing, but the Overwatch logo was easily discernable on the right arm.

 

He was waiting for a response, looking in her direction, but he refused to move forward any further. She’d pushed herself up and pressed her back against the wall, grip tightened painfully on her knees instead of over her ears. Overwatch no longer triggered her blackouts, but there was still an uncomfortable pressure behind her eyes when she saw the logo. 

 

His implied gaze made her squirm, and she still couldn’t think with that blaring siren. It was a welcome relief when he turned away, motioning the people to behind him. She couldn’t hear him from where she was, and it was clear they had a communication system within their helmets. When the group had dispersed, he leaned against the wall with a hand on the side of his head. She could only figure that he was trying to hear a different comm line.

 

It was unsettling to see him go rigid and look back at her, trying to quickly hide the motion by turning back around. His free hand motioned erratically to no one in particular, arguing from a distance with his current contact. After another few moments, he turned back to her. 

 

Her angle allowed her to read his lips beneath the helmet, and she arched an eyebrow at an apology before realizing he was reaching for a weapon. A dart filled with a glowing liquid buried itself in her chest, and she fell sideways onto the bed, asleep before she could hope to defend herself or even process the pain of the thick needle. She would have to process the irony and terrible luck of her circumstances at a later time as well.

 

>>>

 

“Gerard, you have to listen to me. She needs help first,” Angela practically begged him now, willing her words to break through his stubborn attempts to reach the door that led back to Amelie’s room. Her stance was firm in front of it. The thought occurred that the serum would be wearing off soon, if it hadn’t already, and this was wasting valuable time.

 

“Can’t you just let me have time with her, Angela? Or do you think imprisoning her in another small room is going to be good for her?” Gerard snarled. The sound of it was muffled by his helmet, which he hadn’t bothered to remove since he left the transport ship. He had made his way directly to Angela’s office once he’d finished directing the squadron, but the medics had long since arrived and departed by that time.

 

“How—” Her bright blue eyes were clouded already, and tears of both anger and pain distorted them more. Angela tried to convince herself he didn’t mean it, that he was scared and not thinking clearly. It was already eating away at her that she hadn’t been there for the rescue, only available over comm link while she prepared for Amelie’s return back at the base. “How can you say something like that to me, Gerard? How can you so blatantly disrespect my work as a medical professional?”

 

“Release her, Doctor Ziegler.” 

 

If the metaphorical knife was already in, using her title in such a manner twisted it. Her expression blanked to neutral in a few blinks, clearing the mist of her tears, and her professional guise proved useful yet again. He could try to throw his power around, but she outranked him. “You don’t have that authority, Lacroix. She is my patient, and I will have you removed from my med bay if you continue to disrupt my treatment of her.”

 

Gerard growled, obviously biting back the desire to say something else to her, but stepped back slowly and turned. The door to her office opened, and he spoke bitterly over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to Jack then, if you want to be like that.”

 

Angela watched him walk out with a hand on her hip. She hoped to sell the image of not being affected by the threat, almost adding a mocking wave with her free hand, but she couldn’t think about being petty with other, larger issues at hand. Once she knew that he was more than halfway down the next hall, hearing his heavy boots stomping through like a child having a tantrum, she turned to the door to Amelie’s room and took a deep breath before opening it.

 

The room was nothing special, but not a typical hospital room. A private room close to Angela’s main office, typically restricted to special cases, it was a calm blue color with a single locked bay window that looked out over the Zugersee lake, the peak of Zugerberg barely visible beyond that. The golden rays of sunrise shifted behind a thin curtain, shafts of light splaying like fingers over the carpeted floor. Between the door and window was a plush bed tucked against the wall, a bedside table and rug off to the side to complete a simple decor. A few books that Angela thought Amelie might like were an impromptu addition scattered on top of the table. 

 

“Ami?” Too friendly for the circumstance, Angela quickly corrected herself. “Amelie? Are you awake?”

 

Nothing.

 

Angela pulled a holopad from one of the deep pockets of her lab coat, swiping through the information they had managed to pull from Talon’s servers. It was deceptively scarce, and she chewed her lip in frustration when the thousandth pass-through yielded nothing new. Atypical psychological torture methods were not Talon’s modus operandi, and there was no history for her to find a pattern in it. Even with hours of the rescue team’s travel time to look through the information, she had to admit that Talon’s goal was unknown. She attempted a different approach. “Agent 36?”

 

The blankets on the bed shifted, rippling with movement beneath them. There was a long pause where the movement stopped before Amelie, or Agent 36, whoever, stuck her head out and sat up, taking in her surroundings with a suspicious look around the room. Her eyes settled on Angela, framed by the doorway and almost glowing in the morning light, and she pushed herself back against the headboard with an audible yelp.

 

“Don’t be afraid.” Angela slipped her holopad back into her pocket and raised her hands slowly, spreading her arms out and in front of her, showing her palms. The reaction had hurt her, but she shoved the new memory down for a different time and a strong drink to help process it. For now she needed to remain in her professional mindset, not be a selfish fool thinking that somehow she would be the only one remembered, her image unaffected by severe mental conditioning. Ridiculous.

 

“I’m here to help.”

 

“You’re dead.” Amelie’s expression had blanked, the now cold stare replacing the flash of surprise was borderline vacant, and her words came as deadpan as Angela had ever heard. The response snapped a void of silence into the room. 

 

Amelie couldn’t help but think how cruel her dreams had become, to bring back the dead like this. The gorgeous Angela Ziegler looking as angelic as ever, which, she supposed, was only appropriate considering. At least she wasn’t a zombie or something equally grotesque. If she didn’t feel so numb, she might have smiled, knowing Angela would have laughed at her ridiculous train of thought even in her dreams. Or was this a nightmare? Who knew anymore?

 

Angela took a moment to process it. Dead? Her analytical mind went to work with that information, especially considering nothing in the documents recovered mentioned anything about it. Why would Talon convince Amelie that Angela was dead? That wouldn’t fit Talon’s methods either, unless all of the documents they recovered were fakes. Or maybe only some were true and others false, to throw her off the trail of their endgame. 

 

She would have to talk to Winston, have Athena run a scan and see if she could distinguish any differences between the files that might clue her into whether it was relevant information or not. It would be a process, and would probably keep her awake for days.

  
The silence was broken by that same voice from before, cold and hollow. Not Amelie’s. “Where am I?”

 

“Outside of Buonas, Switzerland. A safe place.” Angela tucked her hands into her pockets to stop from crossing them over her chest, worrying about communicating a defensive posture. “Did you know where you were before you were here?”

 

“A mountain.” 

 

Angela snorted, but tried to cover the sound with a cough. “There are many mountains in this area.” She nodded towards the window. “If you look outside, you can see Zugerberg Peak from here, for example.”

 

Amelie, or whoever she was, shifted her attention to the window. Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she stepped onto the carpet with great effort, like it might eat her alive when she touched it with her bare feet. It felt odd to be so scared of a dream environment, but the belief that she was sleeping was beginning to serve as only background noise in her mind. Part of her wanted so desperately for it to be real that the other part gave up being concerned enough to argue the reality.

 

Her skeptical expression faded as she pulled the curtain between thumb and forefinger to look across the scenery. The light hurt her sensitive eyes, but she forced herself to keep looking, to watch the trees swaying and the lake surface rippling in the breeze. Zugerberg was a blue silhouette bathed in the soft color of the morning sky. 

 

“Am I dead too?” she asked suddenly, placing her palm to the glass, not feeling the chill through her already cold skin. The blanket drooped on her shoulders, and the end of it pooled at her feet, making her look like a child that woke up after a bad dream, seeking out parents in the middle of the night for comfort. Her expression when she turned to Angela looked conflicted, pulled between that apathy from before and the actual sadness that Amelie would feel thinking like that.

 

“Neither of us is dead.” Angela stepped forward, but stopped when Amelie turned her back again. Another long silence passed as she watched her stare wistfully out the window. It was as if emotions had to carve themselves into the stone of her face, but Angela could see them ghosting over her features. Her Amelie was buried under whatever they had done to her, but she was still there. “Ami. Please.” Her voice cracked, and she would chide herself for it later.

 

“That name feels like a distant memory, but I suppose it’s still correct.” Amelie lowered her hand from the window, shrugging the blanket back up around her shoulders and hugging it tight to her chest. She turned back around, the apology stuck in her throat when she saw the way the doctor was looking at her. It was like the admission actually pained her, her pale fingers clutching the material of her shirt like she might bolt out of the room at any second. 

 

“I’m going to help you.” Angela’s voice was strong, not at all matching her body language. Her conviction wasn’t a concern, but it struggled against her desire to ignore all her medical and professional protocol. If it meant she could pull Amelie into her arms and comfort her the way she had so many times before, she might consider it worth the repercussions. 

 

Apparently, her body had made the decision for her because before she realized it she was standing in front of Amelie, arms outstretched, the mirror image of plenty of times in the past, albeit probably looking a lot worse for wear this time around.

 

Amelie stood frozen in place, fighting the desire to collapse in that embrace, worried that she might wake up before she could take the step forward. “I’m afraid.”  

 

Angela let her stare, patient as ever, hoping that her memories of comfort were still intact, willing it to be the case. She wasn’t sure what type of conditioning had been done, nor did she know the methods they’d no doubt used to harm her, but all of that could wait. All she could think about was that Amelie was  _ safe _ . She was here with her now, and she  _ would  _ be safe. Angela would make sure of it. 

 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Again, Angela’s body moved ahead of her mind, drawing her forward to close the distance between them. Gingerly, she pulled Amelie to her, wrapping her arms around the broken woman’s arms. The chill of her body beneath the layers did not go unnoticed, but the thought was set aside for her analysis later. 

 

“This is not helping my belief that this is a dream.” Amelie moved her arms up, letting Angela hold the blanket around her shoulders with the embrace. She caught Angela’s cheeks between her hands, stroking her thumb over her jawline. Her head tilted, a coy smile coaxing itself—uninvited—to her lips. She was struck by a familiar feeling of warmth seeing the way the doctor tried to avoid direct eye contact with her, made much more difficult by the way she was holding her in place. “ _ Mon Ange. _ ”

 

Angela’s eyes snapped up, locking on Amelie's with a sort of desperation as she fought to catch the breath she’d stolen. 

 

_ What? _

 

“I remember.” Amelie answered the unasked question with her brows furrowed, as if trying to grasp more of the memory. Thinking about it was starting to make her head hurt, a low throbbing against the top of her spine. Her grip loosened as the pain started radiating out and over her temples. “But it hurts.”

 

Angela shook herself from Amelie’s grasp and stepped back. As nice as her cool fingers felt against her burning cheeks, she couldn’t afford to have her brain shut down due to the proximity. 

 

“Any use of psychological conditioning is going to have some nasty side effects. I’m going to do my best to make sure that you’re recovering adequately, which is why you’re here, but I don’t suspect it will take too long to clear you. You’ll of course need to routinely check in with me afterwards, but that’s to be expected.” She was rambling, the string of words blending into each other as she went through a mental checklist, pulling the holopad from her pocket again as she continued. “All standard protocol. You’re going to be fine.”

 

Amelie wondered who it was that she was telling that to.

 

>>>

 

Gerard had been true to his threat, sending Jack into Angela’s office not more than an hour after storming out of it. She had completed the initial intake of the patient, including a brief psychological assessment and the mandatory vitals, and was leaving Amelie’s room as he walked into the main office.

 

“Jack.” Her voice was cordial, but clipped, obviously frustrated with what she saw as an unnecessary distraction. “If you’re here to have a word, walk with me. I need to get this blood to the lab for an accurate read on it.”

 

“I’m sure you’re aware of why I’m here.” He fell into step with her, looking more tired than she could remember ever seeing him. Deep blue circles were forming under his eyes. He took to not sleeping a lot worse than her, and given different circumstances, she may have made a joke about giving him some nanotech to help with it. 

 

“Gerard did  _ threaten _ to retrieve you. So yes, I do assume that I know the reason.” The sound of her heels clicking echoed in the empty hall. Most personnel would be arriving in the next half hour or so, at least in this wing, as she had specified for them to get their rest the night before. The next few days would be very, very long. Until someone could accurately recount what the  _ hell  _ had happened, in great detail, there would be no breaks. She said that, but everyone knew that she was the only one that never slept during these times. It was unethical to ask normal human soldiers and techs to keep her ridiculous pace. There wasn’t a singular argument against her authority over medical matters, as there wasn’t a single person that could stand to challenge her passion for it.

 

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Angie. Why he’s acting this way has to be the most clear to you, of anyone.”

 

She couldn’t help but wonder how much he knew about her feelings when he phrased it that way, but didn’t have time to think about it. “Just because I understand the reasoning, Jack, doesn’t mean I’m going to set aside my professional oath. In these matters, I’m still a doctor. Doctor first, friend second. You know this.”

 

“I do.” He considered his next words carefully. “Can you compromise and make the mandatory two week treatment shorter?”

 

“You realize utilizing the word ‘compromise’ in anything medical is almost always a terrible idea, right?” She turned a corner and pulled her badge to a scanner, Athena’s system beeping in affirmation and opening the door. A cool gust of air escaped the lab, and a single tech greeted them with a short salute before returning to his work. 

 

She didn’t wait for Jack to answer her rhetorical question. “I can do one week. However,” she turned to him, a seething look that dared him to question her, “I am  _ not _ to be interrupted or questioned during that week.  _ And _ . I am to see Amelie each day of the second week for at least a brief meeting to check vitals and do a basic psychological assessment.” 

 

She held his gaze and trusted him when he nodded. She turned to place the vials of blood down on a nearby cart. Flagging the tech down, she pointed to them and delegated the tests accordingly so that she could finish the conversation. “I don’t care if you have to go drag her out of Gerard’s arms, Jack. It is the only way I will agree to it, and it’s only because you’re a friend. Don’t make the same mistake that Gerard has by making me question that, or I will have to consider my time with Overwatch completed.”

 

It was not a threat. 

 

It was a promise.

 

>>>

 

Amelie had done fine during her first week. 

 

Angela was comforting, gentle and patient with her as she sorted through Amelie’s disconnect. She’d told her that sometimes defenses could feel like separate beings, could make it seem like she was watching herself from a distance. Disassociating, she’d called it. All of it sounded accurate, especially when she related it to the dreamlike state. Amelie still reached out to grasp Angela’s hand at times, to remind herself that she was actually there and  _ real _ .

 

Angela was scribbling a few more notes in a private journal, a reminder to look into something later, when the door to her office opened. The greeting died in her throat, looking over thin reading glasses to the clock to convince her that it was time. 1700. He was on the hour exactly. 

 

“Lacroix.” She nodded slightly, the most polite thing she could manage with the embers of her anger being stoked by his general presence. Though Jack had come through with his promise to control him and keep him out of her way, she knew that he was constantly pacing around the wing when not out on the grounds. She could swear he paced as loud as he could to irk her, and she wondered when he’d turned into such an immature brat. She missed the old Gerard, the one that was a friend, hell even the one that was grateful to her for saving his life on more than one occasion. 

 

“Doctor.”

 

Not even a name. 

 

“I’m finishing her discharge paperwork right now.” Angela pushed her glasses up from where they’d slid down, scooting a few papers over her desk. They still preferred to have a physical signature first, and it would be uploaded to Athena via a scan later. Attacks on data were not uncommon now, and paper served as a reliable backup. “As her spouse, please review the information and sign accordingly. I’ve highlighted each section that will need your signature.”

 

There was no conversation between them, and the silence was thick with tension. Angela kept her head down, reading the same information over and over until she finally stood once he finished the last of the paperwork. “One moment, please.”

 

Her hand hesitated on the handle to Amelie’s room. It was true that Amelie was ready to be discharged by technicality, but there was information missing from her file that was uncomfortable to admit. It had taken a great deal to convince her that she was married, for example. 

 

There was a petty voice that said she remembered Angela because they spent more time together, but her professional voice debated such a simple and selfish explanation. It had been more like Amelie was actively trying  _ not _ to remember Gerard. On multiple occasions, blackouts of mixed lengths had interrupted any questions about him. It was a dangerous unknown, but there was no real method of tackling the issue. Angela hoped that Gerard had paid close attention to the information she had provided.

 

“Amelie, Gerard is here.” 

 

Though Angela gave her credit for keeping her posture confident, Amelie looked small in the sunset’s dark colors, and the slight flinch was obvious to trained eyes. It was a similar image to their first day, Amelie standing with her hand placed against the window. The fading light looked more sinister against her ivory skin than the warm colors of morning, but Angela couldn’t help but think about how she made even that look beautiful.

 

“Am I really going to be fine?” Amelie asked, using the same phrasing as Angela had the first day. She dropped her hand to her side and turned around, trying and failing to smile sincerely.

 

The forced smile almost made Angela cringe, and the voice was hard to read even after a week working to distinguish the two most prominent. Oftentimes they blended, other times it was obvious. 

 

“I wouldn’t be letting you go if I didn’t think so.” She swallowed the lie, feeling the poison of it already making her sick. 

 

Amelie nodded, and Angela swore that she knew she was being lied to.

 

>>>

 

Angela was eager to drown her regret.

 

Her apartment was a mess, clothes draped over furniture and littering the floor, dishes left unwashed in the sink, and books of every variety on each available surface. It was nothing new for her to ignore it.

 

She flicked the lights on as she stepped in and fell back against the door, sliding down and drawing her knees to her chest. Allowing herself to finally take a breath, it came as the broken sob she knew it would. Heavy tears burned lines in her cheeks, dripping from her chin as her chest heaved.

 

Once the first of many attacks passed, she stood on shaky legs and dragged herself to the kitchen to find the bottle of wine she’d been saving for a special occasion. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but here she was.

 

It was tucked away in the back of a cabinet, a violet ribbon wrapped around the neck of deep blue glass and a small square tag attached that read ‘Congrats, Ange’ signed by Gerard and Amelie both, but with a little heart drawn next Amelie’s name. A grin tugged at her lips, remembering that they’d gone to dinner together when they’d given it to her. The creme brulee had been fantastic, and watching Amelie eat the accompanying fresh strawberries had been an experience. The crimson of the fruit matched her lipstick, and she savored the fruit with half-lidded eyes, making a point to look to the side to catch Angela watching her. 

 

Angela shook herself out of the memory and turned the paper in her fingers, only just noticing that something was written inside the tag. Amelie’s elegant and flowing penmanship was beautiful, ‘ _on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.’_ (“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”)

 

If words had physicality, she might have been shoved backwards. Her fingers curled around the counter to hold herself steady, feeling that overbearing weight of grief again. She breathed deep for a few seconds, staving off another attack for now, and popped the cork from the bottle. She downed a full glass of wine in one gulp, pouring herself another to nurse a bit slower at the table.

 

She finished the last of the bottle at the same time she completed the first draft of her resignation.

 

>>>

 

Amelie had felt strange since the moment she left the relative safety of the med bay. She reminded herself that there were daily visits to look forward to; and she was eager to show Angela that she could recover, but doubt was wringing her hands together and tucking her arms close to her chest. 

 

She wanted to go back to casually conversing in the cafe over coffee, watching the blush spread over Angela’s face when she teased her, or listening to the way her laugh could silence nearby conversations. Everyone would stop to listen to it, both because it was rare to hear Doctor Ziegler laugh and because it was a musical sound. It was a song that Amelie heard far more often than others, and one she would gladly listen to on repeat.

 

It was unclear as to why she didn’t think these things about her...husband. She tried to mirror his soft smile, appreciative that he did not try to reach out to her yet, but still uncomfortable. He didn’t force conversation, simply walking her back to the craft that would take them home.

 

>>>

 

Nothing could have prepared her for the blackout that would take her husband’s life. 

 

They weren’t as common, and she told Angela about them each day, working through the things that might have been causing them. 

 

She was afraid.  _ So afraid. _

 

At one point, she begged to be returned to the base. 

 

Angela argued with Gerard, voices raised to the point that in the other room Amelie pressed her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear them.

 

He hadn’t backed down.

 

His voice echoed in her head while she tried to fall asleep next to him.

 

It might have been why she carved a line in his throat with his own tactical knife, unphased by the squelching sound and spurting blood as the serrated edge tore through his flesh.

 

The only thought that crossed her mind was the one where she wondered if she should have woken him up first.

 

Back and forth between consciousness, staring down at shaking hands, coated in Gerard’s blood, another thought crossed her mind before she blacked out again. 

  
_Ange, forgive me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Lemme know!
> 
> Two weeks isn't at all long enough for treatment, but I worked with what's in canon as best I could to make it all make sense.
> 
> The French is from The Little Prince. My favorite line actually. Subtle enough I think, but also meaningful.
> 
> It's back to the present in the next chapter. They'll finally meet each other again, after all these years. Should be interesting.
> 
> Song is Deftones: Phantom Bride.


	7. Rectifier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang is all here. Now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short compared to the others. I had quite the week and my mentality was not really in it. Gonna try and pace the next chapter better so I don't have to rush it.

Sleep was easier to come by than Angela would have thought, and she slept sound until Fareeha shook her shoulder to wake her. She grumbled and muttered for half an hour, and it took two cups of coffee before she formed coherent enough sentences to converse. 

 

Fareeha had heard enough horror stories about groggy Dr. Ziegler to stay quiet while the doctor moved about her morning routine. She had her feet propped up on a chair, studying a holopad while she waited, brows furrowing as she read through  reports from back home. Her second-in-command was taking care of things, and she reminded herself to respect the mutual trust between them. However, she couldn’t help but be as involved as possible from a distance, even if her team stressed the importance of protecting the prominent doctor in charge of the world’s best life-saving technologies. 

 

“Frühstück?” Angela finished the last of her coffee and peered into the empty mug, not realizing she asked in her native tongue.

 

Fareeha knew enough of the basics to understand her request for breakfast. She stood and stretched her legs, rubbing the muscles above her prosthetics. “I could go for that. We’ll need the energy for whatever is ahead anyway.”

 

Angela grunted an affirmative.

 

- - -

 

The message Angela received at breakfast was simple enough to understand. It was a text from an unknown number with a time, location, and about as much attitude as Angela had expected coming from a hacker.

 

[[1046: **Geneva. Dinner at 1800. Don’t be late, chica.** ]] 

 

Angela started to slide the phone over the table to show Fareeha when it buzzed again.

 

[[1047:  **Also work to keep your hellhound muzzled, won’t you? ;)** ]]  

 

Angela bristled, suddenly quite awake and ready to send a curt reply, but Fareeha’s laughter interrupted.

 

“Is that how they see it?” Fareeha shook her head and shrugged, chuckling to herself. Noticing Angela’s confused expression, she clarified; “It seems our hacking friend has seen the newest model of the Raptora. The armor is a dark special ops model built to look like the jackal, Anubis.”

 

“No fair. I haven’t seen it.” Angela huffed and pouted, glaring down at the message.

 

“Neither have I.” Fareeha grinned, amused by Angela’s reaction. “I approved the idea and design, but otherwise, it’s been in development outside my radar.”

 

Angela noted that Fareeha was wearing the smaller pieces of the Raptora, and tapped a nail against the metal wrapped around her forearm. “I did always wonder if they would make a model that didn’t scream ‘shoot me’ in any light.”

 

Fareeha pointed her fork in Angela’s direction, “You say that like golden wings don't do the same.” 

 

“Fair point. However, the issue remains that our mystery hacker has the audacity to say something like that.”

 

“They have the advantage here, and they know it. That's what it boils down to.” Fareeha shrugged again. She shifted eggs around with her fork, but abandoned the idea of finishing them. “Our options are to grapple in the dark and hope for the best—which is never a good option—or take what information we can and level the playing field. We're being tactical.”

 

“This is why you're a leader, and I prefer to work with machines, ones with no attitude specifically.” Angela leaned back and sighed. “Yet again I’m wondering why I’m even doing this.”

 

“Aside from or in addition to the obvious reason of closure?” Fareeha pushed away from the table, averting her eyes as she processed the emotions that caused the question to sound so bitter. She continued without pause to deflect any questions about it. “Talon is up to something, and it’s the only lead we have to follow right now. It’s the right thing to do, and you’ve always been one to follow the righteous route.”

 

_ I’m not sure what I’m seeking at the end this time around.  _ Angela finished another coffee, pushing aside the thought of smuggling some of the Swiss grounds with them as there would be more in Geneva. She didn’t know how to respond to Fareeha’s assessment, unable to argue it, but not quite believing it about herself either. She ignored it for the easier reply. “I’ll check us out. Geneva is a good five-hour trip from here, so we should get moving.”

 

- - -

 

The wind whistling through the valley stuttered as it shifted, lifting snow banks against the cloaked edges of the building. A single window gave a view of the white-out beyond, broken by a silhouette that approached and lifted a hand to a shimmering edge.

 

Inside, Sombra chuckled and set her phone down. Helix had been harder to hack than Talon but not by much, and the results were interesting. Based on a quick scan of the files, she could imagine the conversation the commander was having with the doctor about the armor neither had seen yet. She had to admit that it looked good, and she couldn’t help but think she could modify some hardlight in similar ways to match the special cloaking angles that it used.

 

Her amusement was cut short by a low rapping sound on the safe house door. It was a measured sound, the pattern of the knock  unique to each agent individually. She opened the door with a small flourish and ignored the flurry of snow that chased after the guest. “Araña. So good of you to come.”

 

Widow didn’t provide the satisfaction of a response, moving instead to sit in the corner of the small room. Her fingers danced expertly over the sleek case she carried and placed next to her legs, managing to open the metal clasps with no more than a whisper of sound. It was obvious that she knew the process intimately, and was pulling her rifle and a cleaning cloth out within seconds of settling down. The motions were habit, formerly a uniform routine to keep her mentality grounded, but that had recently become a method by which to quell the overwhelming anxiety that her newfound past caused her.

 

“I’ve reached out to the doctor,” Sombra said as she brushed flecks of white from her coat and resumed flicking through screens a few feet away. 

 

“You’ve selected a rendezvous point then.” Widow slid the cloth over the barrel of her gun, wiping away the moisture from melted snow. She thought about the way the steam curled in front of her as the heat of the barrel hissed beneath layers of cold, remembering that blood did the same thing as it splattered across the powder. She had let herself linger behind the scope far too long after this kill, not quite savoring the myriad of novel sensations swirling in her chest. 

 

“Geneva.” Sombra saw Widow look up from the corner of her eye and couldn’t help but smirk. “I thought it was appropriate.”

 

“Indeed.” Widow returned her attention to the rifle and tried to ignore the pressure in her chest. 

 

It had been seven years, and some of those she couldn’t remember. Even with Sombra’s help, there were moments, lapses in memory, that refused to return. Though she regained a lot of Amelie’s memories, most of her time as Widowmaker was a blur of confusing images and violence. Now she was something caught in the middle, trying to make sense of herself. Dr. Ziegler became a symbol of hope, a last ditch effort to figure out what she had become and if she could ever recover.

 

Her feelings were still something she struggled to rationalize, and she was quicker to frustration than anything else. Many days she thought to tell Sombra to stop, to let her return to being numb to the world. It was easier to feel nothing at all. 

 

Selfish. 

 

This wasn’t all for her. It wasn’t all for any one particular person. It was much larger than that.

 

Two rogue agents trying to dismantle a corrupt organization from within, working to save the world from declining into chaos yet again.

 

Widow was guessing there were at least two people that would doubt that.

 

- - -

 

_ I can’t do this.  _ Angela paced, gnawing her chapped lip. She tucked her hands in the pockets of her large coat, pulling it tighter around herself. The movement made the outline of tucked wings bulge against the thick fabric. 

 

Fareeha stood a few feet away, stoic as she scanned the crowd. She would occasionally glance over to watch thick snowflakes disappear into Angela’s white coat, melting instantly from the warmth of the Valkyrie beneath. As much as she wished to do something to help, she thought it best to give the doctor her space. 

 

“They’re here.”

 

Angela whipped around, looking in the same direction as the commander. “Where?”

 

“They’re using a cloaking technology. The overcast makes it harder to see, but it shimmers. Watch closely.” Fareeha didn’t point but nodded her head forward in a general direction. Her arms stayed crossed over her chest, trying to ignore the chill slipping beneath her coat. The feeling wasn’t as intrusive when it was just the weather causing it. “I’m surprised they can keep it active this long.”

 

“Normally it only lasts a few seconds.” Angela finished the thought. She fought the urge to grab Fareeha’s arm and run, or at least sap some of her warmth to stop her teeth from chattering. Everything screamed  _ wrong  _ about the situation.The Valkyrie hummed, working to stabilize her erratic heart rate, but it couldn’t hope to keep up with the psychological symptoms.

 

The figure stopped. 

 

The figure disappeared.

 

“Amigas,” Sombra said from behind them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “Please, follow me. This place isn’t safe.”

 

Angela stiffened, understanding that it was not a threat, nor was it a question. “Lead the way.”

 

Sombra was visible now. Bright purple cybernetics would draw attention anywhere, even in an international safe zone with a decent omnic population. The unease encompassing the entirety of the world made for a lot more insecurity and unresolved anger. Sombra suppressed the urge to cloak herself again as she led the two to a nearby building.

 

The house was old, built far earlier than the first Omnic crisis. White paint curled and peeled on the outside, flaking from the wood. Slatted boards were folded next to the windows, and deep green curtains blocked any view inside. A brass lion holding the door knocker greeted them from an equally green door. 

 

Sombra fished a key from an inside pocket and fumbled with the deadbolt. The lock bar slid back with a screech, and the door opened with a similar cringe-worthy sound.

 

Angela expected a musty feel, to match the ancient exterior, but was surprised by the initial warmth and comfort of the interior. Her heels clicked on glossy hardwood floors and the foyer led to an open living space and kitchen, accented by soft lighting that felt almost natural. A fire crackled in front of plush furniture, arranged in a way that suggested company wasn’t uncommon, or at least wasn’t unexpected.

 

Angela found herself moving towards the kitchen without invitation, the familiarity of the smell rolling over her senses. It was soothing in a way she couldn’t explain if asked. Fareeha’s hand was on her shoulder before she could take more than a few steps, cautioning her and bringing her back to her senses.

 

“What is that smell?” Fareeha asked in a way that implied she knew, but wanted to hear the answer anyway. Her gaze tested Angela, reminding her of the situation. It became quite a stern look as Sombra hung her jacket and mosied her way inside, the invitation to follow unspoken but understood.

 

“ _Coq au vin_ ,” Angela answered without hesitation. Her brows furrowed as she tried to think of the why behind her familiarity with it. She grabbed Fareeha’s arm again, bunching the fabric of the coat she was still wearing. “Oh no.”

 

Fareeha didn’t respond, letting Angela sort through the realization at her own pace. She couldn’t keep her eye contact when Angela’s eyes darkened, years worth of sadness catching up to her all at once through such an unexpected smell of all things. She didn’t move, though it would irritate her beyond measure if anyone else made her so unable to act.

 

“She’s…” Angela started, but stopped, afraid her own voice wouldn’t waver through the admission. The tears refused to come, blocked by a seething anger coiled around her grief, but she still hid her face in the coarse material of Fareeha’s jacket. The armor beneath was hard, unwavering like the person wearing it, and Angela tried to think about that instead of all the other thoughts rolling through her mind.

 

Fareeha reached for Angela’s hair, stringing her fingers through it to comfort her. The movement felt awkward, restrained by habit and force, but she hoped that Angela knew it was genuine. She considered humming a song, but the thought of anyone but Angela hearing it stopped her. 

 

“Did you not invite them ins-?” Widow was speaking back to Sombra as she moved into the space between rooms, but cut the question short when she saw the two still by the door. She turned her back so quickly that the wine nearly sloshed from the glass in her hand and she mumbled incoherent but akin to an apology.

 

Angela forced her head up, staring at  _ whatever it was _ that replaced her friend so many years ago. 

 

She wore a deep red dress that dipped low on her back, the thin straps over prominent shoulder blades framing a large spider tattoo. It was eerie to think that the tattoo was highlighted by the severely cyanotic skin, but Angela couldn’t help think it. Another part of her couldn’t stand how  _ domestic  _ it felt, borderline  _ casual _ . 

 

What the  _ hell _ were they playing at? 

 

“Sombra did mention dinner, didn’t she?” Widow brushed her ponytail back behind her, obscuring the tattoo and snapping Angela out of her trance. She didn’t look but she could no longer feel the doctor’s gaze boring into her back. She left them standing there the same way Sombra had as she moved back into the kitchen.

 

“Angela,” Fareeha whispered, placing both hands on her shoulders and waiting for her to look at her instead of watch their host saunter away. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

 

Angela shook her head back and forth. “Not at all,” she replied as she stepped back, looking from Fareeha to the open area, the kitchen obscured by the single wall, “but we have to do this. Like you said, it’s our only lead.”

 

_ And it may be my only opportunity for closure, as you also deduced. _

 

Fareeha took a long last glance at the front door and sighed, moving to take Angela’s coat for her after placing her own on a nearby hook. “Well. At least dinner smells good, even if the name leaves something to be desired.”

 

Angela couldn’t help a small smile at the ridiculous grin on Fareeha’s face. For as much hell as both of them had been through, Fareeha continued to be the light in so much darkness. Angela would never understand the strength it took to bear the weight of such pain with a pleasant smile, as guarded and ungenuine as it might have been. The Amaris were an amazing bunch. 

 

“Amigas!” Sombra looked up from her position splayed out over a loveseat. “You’ve decided to join us!”

 

Angela had to take a deep breath before moving to the bar that wrapped around the open side of the kitchen. As much as she tried to relax, her posture was stiff and the wings rippled in irritation at the Latina woman.

 

“So it’s Sombra then?” She tapped a finger on the counter and hummed, trying to remember if she’d seen the name anywhere.

 

“Don’t bother.” Sombra stood and brushed imaginary dust off her chest. She tilted her head and grinned, more than confident she knew what the doctor was thinking. “You won’t be able to recall hearing my name. I’ve made sure of that.”

 

It didn’t sound nearly as ominous as if the other person in the room had said it, and Angela turned her attention to the woman currently making up plates of food for each of them. “What do they call you now?”

 

“They call me a number of things. Killer, assassin, traitor,  _ cauchemar _ .” Widow sounded bored at best, but felt the bitterness creep into her native tongue. She dared to hope that she could go by anything else, willing the words to hurt less if she said them first.

 

“ _ Araignée du soir, espoir. _ ” Angela said, referring to the French superstition.

 

Widow looked up, surprised by her knowledge of it. The word for hope sounded especially nice. The ghost of a smile threatened her features, but was replaced by a snarl. “Look how they remind me of it.” 

 

Angela felt sick as she looked at the scars covering the arm Widow lifted. The warped text looked to be both burned and inked into her skin, accented by jagged lines like broken glass. Even Fareeha made a sound of surprise in her throat, caught off guard by the brutality of it.

 

A quiet rage burned in golden eyes, but Widow turned back to her task to hide it. 

 

Sombra took the prolonged silence as a good excuse to get another chilled bottle of wine, offering some to the guests, which they gladly accepted after watching her open it. She bit back a joke about poison not being her style, and moved to refill Widow’s glass last. 

 

“This isn’t going so bad, yea, Araña?” She placed her hand gently on Widow’s shoulder as she poured, asking in barely a whisper as she watched the assassin struggle through an internal battle.

 

Widow scoffed but felt her shoulders relax. It was true, it wasn’t going as poorly as she’d expected it to. However, they’d barely touched on anything vaguely important, and she could feel the eyes on her again. “Will you explain?”

 

“Mm,” Sombra nodded, expecting as much. She doubted that the woman Widow was before Talon mutilated her would have wanted to have this discussion, and this broken version definitely couldn’t.

 

She spun back to the two standing at the bar and motioned to a lower table. “Let’s not ruin our appetites. We can enjoy our food first, or at least hopefully we can. I’ve never had Widow’s food, and it’s only for such a special occasion that she would cook, I’m sure.”

 

“Widow?” Angela quirked a brow. A bit too on-the-nose for her taste, but she waited for confirmation.

 

“Until I think of something better, it will have to do.” Widow was glad her physiology would hide a blush, embarrassed by Sombra’s confession. She wished she’d thought of something so simple as a name. Hearing the doctor refer to her in any way similar to Talon made her skin crawl, but she had nothing else and couldn’t go to correct it now.

 

Angela noted the blush, a slight flush in the cyanotic skin. It wasn’t obvious, but she was paying attention. As much as she wanted to believe this woman here was a monster, Widow was Amelie. A different version maybe, but she was there. 

 

She was probably paying too much attention, and had to force her eyes away as they all sat down. The shit-eating grin that Sombra gave her confirmed her suspicion that she’d let the look linger too long.

 

_ Shit. _

  
It would have been worse if she’d realized that Widow had also noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Ra: Rectifier
> 
> Lemme know what you think =D


	8. Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela learns about what Sombra wants, and has her own reasons for complying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one. My editor had a death in the family and I wasn't trying to push her to work when there were other stresses going on. Thanks for understanding!

Angela and Fareeha were ushered out when they finished eating, promises of conversation to come once things had been cleaned. Sombra flitted between refilling glasses with what appeared to be a seemingly endless supply of wine and helping Widow with the tasks in the kitchen to speed the process. Angela leaned heavily against Fareeha’s side on the loveseat, lost in her own thoughts while the other woman stared into the fire.

 

Sombra and Widow joined them after a few minutes, each lounging in a separate single-person chair. Sombra kicked her feet over the arm of hers, lounging on it sideways in the same way as before, and Widow leaned back into hers with her legs crossed in front of her. 

 

“Inevitably, I am dragging you into a darkness that I’m desperately attempting to escape.” Widow surprised them by being the first to break the silence. She furrowed her brows as she took another sip of the deep red wine, smoothing her dress out over her thigh with her free hand. “Talon deserves nothing less than the fangs of mutiny currently threatening to drag it under, but working with the beast may be equally awful.”

 

Angela’s eyes followed Widow’s hand, the hints of a buzz forcing her into a gray space of paranoia and lack of inhibition. It was a truly terrible combination. It made her both afraid for her life and less likely to care if she was caught watching each of the most minute movements with thinly veiled interest. Both fortunately and unfortunately, all four of them had been drinking throughout the mostly silent dinner. They were all a bit more affected than serious conversation warranted.

 

“So the two of you are double agents.” Fareeha leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees after setting her glass on a side table. Her eyes looked golden in the light of the fire as she glanced between the two Talon operatives. 

 

“Precisely,” Sombra spoke up, dragging a finger through the air to open multiple purple screens. She directed a few in front of them while she started to explain the origins of their current situation.

 

Angela suspected that the cybernetic enhancements glowing along Sombra’s skin were assisting with keeping the slur out of her voice. The hacker’s body language was not quite as kind to hiding how much she’d had to drink, and her arms flopped when she attempted to make fluid and exaggerated movements. Angela squinted, irritated with her inability to make out all the words in Sombra’s explanation. Her scowl further deepened when she realized Fareeha was nodding along, apparently less affected than she was by the alcohol.

 

“They’re speaking in Arabic now, Mercy. It’s why you’re not understanding,” Widow finished her glass with a sigh, leaning forward to place it on the other end table. 

 

Angela forced herself to swallow, as thick and dry as her tongue felt watching as the strap of Widow’s dress slipped down and off her shoulder. It forced her attention away from the callsign and the obvious explanation, steering it instead to the heat flaring in her chest. A fine sheen of sweat coated the underside of the Valkyrie, and she struggled to take a deep and calming breath. The sound must have been louder than she’d realized because the room turned to look at her.

 

“Are you alright?” Fareeha asked, concern knitting through her features.

 

“Fine,” Angela choked, tearing her eyes away from the assassin in front of her to smile at her concerned friend. “I’m fine. I just need a minute. Maybe splash a bit of cold water on my face.”

 

“I’ll show you the washroom.” Widow stood and fixed her dress, an absent-minded gesture as she cleared her throat. It felt awkward. It felt even more awkward to realize that she could recognize feeling awkward. To divert the attention away from it, she turned to Fareeha. “Commander, I can show you as well.”

 

“I’m actually familiar with the layout.” Fareeha tapped the helmet she had removed and set to the side by her glass.

 

“The Raptora HUD supplies the user with important information like that,” Sombra said. She shifted her eyes up only briefly to supply the extra information, slipping back into Arabic to continue the conversation with the commander. 

 

“They’re ignoring us,” Angela said. It wasn’t loud enough for either of the chatting women to visibly notice, but Widow huffed in what might have been an attempt at a laugh. Angela was surprised, but by the time she could study her face, the assassin was looking the other way to hide it. 

 

“Follow me,” Widow beckoned her to follow, already making her way down the single hall in front of the kitchen. “If you’d like to remove your armor, we do have a room for storage. That is, of course, if you want to. We keep our equipment there as well, if you’d like to see. I know it’s not something to simply trust.” 

 

Angela giggled, the alcohol making the assassin’s babbling seem more amusing than anything. “It is quite hot, and I do feel excessively overdressed. I figure I would be quite dead by now if you wanted me that way.”

 

“Mm. You are correct. There have been multiple opportunities since you arrived,” Widow hummed in thought, but turned back quickly to defend herself. “Though I assure you, I do not intend to kill you or betray you or any such thing.”

 

Angela had zoned out, readdressing that fear for her life from earlier. Widow was not known for failing assassinations. If she wanted someone dead, they ended up dead. Whether it took mere seconds or years to track down her target, no one ever escaped her sights. Often in reading the news of the world-famous assassin, Angela would wonder when those sights would land on her, so certain that Talon would send an old friend after her. Though she then reminded herself that she wouldn’t realize it if they did, being dead too fast from the cleanest headshot science could create and all.

 

Angela hated to face the fact that logic deemed this a trustworthy encounter, at least for the time being. Fareeha had also seemed somewhat comfortable, and she was much less likely to read the situation positively. That helped Angela believe her inner thoughts, as biased as they might be. She could tell she was lowering her guard more with each passing minute. Lost in her thoughts, she bumped into Widow when she abruptly turned.

 

Amelie and Widowmaker would have both had different reactions for this moment, but this hybrid version of herself had no clue what to do. Widow’s hand shot up to Angela’s shoulder, trying to stabilize her as she wobbled. The alcohol was probably making her dizzy so Widow’s hand lingered. She enjoyed the warmth of the Valkyrie humming beneath her cool skin.

 

Angela shook her head, not able to tear her gaze from the soft and truly apologetic eyes looking down at her with a shimmer of concern. The gold—she had to admit—was bizarre, especially since it was rare to see it outside of an omnic, but fascinating all the same. Gone were Amelie’s eyes that matched Angela’s morning coffee, the ones that twinkled with the mischievousness she came to expect each day, yet there was something familiar beneath the calculating and predatory gaze. It was that same shy look she wore that first day they met, lost and seeking guidance for something far more important this time.

 

Angela reached a hand to Widow’s cheek. “Amelie—” 

 

“I am not her,” Widow interrupted, snapping more than she meant to and turning her face away before the contact.

 

“Is dead,” Angela continued, narrowing her eyes and forcing Widow to look at her. “I know that. What I want to know is who  _ you  _ are.”

 

“I’ve already told you what they call me.” 

 

Angela shook her head and huffed, the frustration more evident through her fading buzz. “That’s not what I want to know. I see Amelie in you, but I am standing here in front of someone that is obviously no longer her. The news and every single file I have read about Widowmaker would make me believe that I could not be alive right now in front of her. So who are  _ you? _ ”

 

Widow couldn’t focus. The hand on her cheek felt like it was burning her, but she didn’t want to move it. It stirred a long-dormant feeling that she begged to hold onto for just a moment longer. When she finally managed a response, it came as a whisper. “I don’t know.”

 

“Is that why I’m here?” Angela tilted her head, pieces already clicking into place. Thinking back to when this all started seven years ago, slowly building to the present, it made more sense than she liked to admit. Amelie had been a tough woman. Even if they manipulated, drugged, tortured, and any other things they did to her, Angela wasn’t surprised to see that spirit start to fight back after all this time.

 

Widow nodded. Unable to find her voice, she moved Angela’s hand from her face and muttered a lame excuse, “Distracting.” 

 

Angela laughed. She might have felt bad about it if the ghost of a smile didn’t creep into Widow’s lips, not that she was looking. She didn’t linger on why ‘distracting’ had been the choice of argument. It sounded too close to something Amelie would have said years ago. “I think I will take you up on your previous offer, if you’ll show me where I can put my armor, please. After that, you can clarify why you need me.”

 

“ _ Oui _ .” Widow felt that familiar heat of a blush at Angela’s choice of words. The doctor’s effect on her was getting irritating. The lack of feeling was preferable already. She would have to talk to Sombra about making adjustments while they had guests.

 

“Oh.” Angela stepped into the room to which Widow directed her. Cases that contained weapons were stacked neatly in a corner. Armor pieces bathed in soft blue lights hung on the walls, and miscellaneous boots, gloves, and other equipment lay scattered around the room. It was obvious that everything had a specific place, and Angela wasn't sure about disturbing the order. She held the chest plate she'd clicked off and looked back and forth.

 

Sensing her indecision, Widow stepped forward. “May I?” She reached her hand out and Angela handed it to her with a small nod. That fire against her skin sparked as their fingers brushed, and she tried to ignore it as she hung the piece on the wall. “Sombra has some gravitational field that holds them up.”

 

Angela stared at her fingers too long and almost missed the explanation. “I see.” She shifted in place, shuffling her feet and wringing her hands together. “Uh. Could you assist with removing the wings? They're...heavy, and I-I don't want to damage them.”

 

Widow arched an eyebrow at the sudden shift in behavior. Was the doctor embarrassed to ask for help? She answered the question by moving around her to grasp at the base of the wings, waiting for the indication that she was ready.

 

Angela enjoyed the cool fingers against the hardlight, her cybernetic spine translating the sensation for her. Her body shuddered and goosebumps flared over her shoulders beneath the flight suit. She was thankful that the reaction wouldn't be visible. 

 

“Mercy?”

 

“Yes!” Angela shook herself out of the moment. “Go ahead. I'm ready.” The phantom of touch remained after the wings were removed, a memory etched into the spine. She found herself craving more of it within seconds of Widow moving away.

 

“Curious. Why do you refer to me by my callsign?” Angela tried to ignore the stoic assassin waiting patiently to the side. She tried to convince herself that Widow was thinking of ways to kill her, not ways to press her hands against the doctor’s insatiable skin. She tried to fight the part of her rationalizing letting those hands around her throat if only it would stop the burning in her core. And she  _ definitely  _ tried to keep her mind away from the fantasies she had  _ absolutely never had. _

 

_ Stop it, Angela.  _

 

“She does not like the idea of me using your name,” Widow said. She turned away as more pieces of armor were removed. It felt voyeuristic to continue watching as Angela removed the black flight suit, revealing the skin tight athletic wear beneath it. The white tank and black shorts were simple things, but did well to highlight that the doctor was still in prime shape, the material stretching to a skin-tight fit over lines of lean muscle. As much as Widow tried to respect privacy, but stole small glances anyway.

 

It felt like a conversation best saved for when Fareeha could hear it too, but Angela decided on being selfish. “So Amelie isn’t entirely dead. Some of her still exists within you.” She walked over, looking up at Widow with a knowing smirk, like she’d figured out a secret that no one would be able to guess. 

 

The glint in her eye was a dangerous one, reminiscent of a much younger and bolder Dr. Ziegler. The doctor that bowed under her friend’s teasing, but that not-so-secretly sought out encounters that would threaten to break the boundary of their friendship. She was a calculating woman with a penchant for getting what she wanted, especially when high risks were involved. 

 

Never so bold as to ruin a marriage though, even when the opportunities laid themselves in front of her like easy targets in a shooting range. She would never be the one to pull the trigger on something like that. However, she wouldn’t need to. The overeager part of her mind rationalized the idea that it made her thoughts more okay than in the past. She was no longer fantasizing about a married woman.

 

“I couldn’t tell you how much of her is left, but yes. Her memories mostly. Other than that, the occasional voice of…” Widow rubbed her temples, dragging her hands over her cheeks as she considered the words. “Concern? Possibly? I’m not entirely certain I could explain it as I don’t understand it fully.”

 

“No need to rush it,” Angela waved a hand, dismissing the idea.  _ I can make all the time you need. _ “How much of you is The Widowmaker then?”

 

“I would say that is a great deal more of who I am now. Obvious physicalities aside, the  _ modifications  _ Talon has made to this body have also warped the mind. Sombra would be the one to talk to if you want to see the medical records, including chemical adjustments being made.” 

 

“Chemical adjustments? Is Sombra reversing Talon’s modifications? Is that why this is happening to you?” Angela was already trying to imagine the process. Someone with no medical knowledge should never have been able to manage it. She couldn’t list a single colleague in her circle that could, if she was being honest. She ignored the thought that she couldn’t have done it even  _ with  _ the medical expertise.

 

Widow could see the gears turning in the doctor’s mind and smirked. “It would probably be best if you talk to her. I’m still not sure I understand it myself, but it involves using her technology to replace her lack of medicinal expertise. It also required access to internal Talon documents and files. She might have already explained it to your friend out there.”

 

Angela clicked her tongue. She didn’t want to talk to a group, she wanted to have a private discussion that would suffice in answering all her questions. It appeared that it would be impossible with Widow’s gaps in memory and awareness, and it would probably prove less distracting for her to not be alone with the assassin. “Speaking of them, I suppose they might start to wonder if we stay gone any longer.”

 

Widow’s smirk for a different reason. This doctor and her wording would be the death of her ability to be numb to amusement. Memories from Amelie pushed to the surface, and she had to bite back the flirtatious teasing on her tongue. The constant warmth around the doctor was distracting enough without the help of the past.

 

Angela returned the smile, though it made her uneasy to see so much of Amelie in the expression. Getting past the idea that Widow was a combination of Amelie and not Amelie was going to be a process. 

 

They returned in silence and were greeted by the same, both women that had been chatting now sipping slowly at their wine while they waited.

 

Sombra perked up, eager to continue her conversation. “Great! You're back! Now I can get into the details.”

 

“I figured that's what you were discussing before,” Widow said. She resumed her place on her chair and tried to ignore the thoughts of how nice Angela’s pale skin looked in the firelight.

 

“In Arabic? That would be a bit unfair don't you think?” Sombra seemed genuinely confused at the assessment. “I just thought the commander would appreciate some conversation in her native tongue. It was nothing important. Simply clearing up some gaps that my few years in the Middle East didn't fill.”

 

“You also hoped to show off the technology that lets you speak a language you don't know,” Widow scoffed, but there was no bite to it.

 

“I did wonder how you spoke so well when you said only a few years. I can almost always tell if someone isn't a native. It was harder this time,” Fareeha nodded with a reserved smile. “Your tech missed some of our slang. I could barely tell though.”

 

“I wondered about some of the translations it was feeding me,” Sombra chuckled and made a mental note to add additional packs to her language files. “All niceties aside. You've heard the origin story, so let's discuss the present.”

 

“Personally, I'd like to request your files on any modifications and manipulations to Talon Agent 36, Widowmaker.” Angela fell into her professional tone with ease, trying to ignore the way Widow cringed when she remembered down to the number. She wished she had her holopad for notes, betting that she could continue those she buried in archives all those years ago.

 

“Tsk. Now, now, Doctor Ziegler. Patience,” Sombra smiled and wagged a finger. “While I can assure you that I have those files and would be happy to send them, there has to be some mutual exchange here or this whole meeting has been for naught. Don't you agree?”

 

Angela made a noise in her throat, an attempt to cover her annoyance. Of course, they were technically still Talon, double agents or not. It's not as though her help with Widow was their main motivation, rather that seemed a more private request in the grand scheme of things. It wouldn’t be so easy.

 

“So before we exchange information, we need to establish terms of what we could call a contract,” Fareeha spoke in the lull, using her experience and authority to cement her role in driving negotiations.

 

“Ultimately, our goal is similar to one you both might have shared at one time: to take down the organization called Talon. The actions they have already taken, and those that they will continue to take, are unacceptable.” Widow bounced her foot and crossed her other leg to cover the tic. “We are all subject to the repercussions another Omnic War will bring, yet they seem keen on ignoring them.”

 

“The first stipulation to all this would be that none of us are ever seen together. I imagine that would be a shared ideal between both parties anyway.” Sombra stood and paced. Though she had already considered the background and affiliations of each individual, balancing all four would be difficult. “This is a safe house, if that wasn’t clear. I have a few set up in this fashion where we could meet, though I’d prefer to use this one if it can be helped.”

 

“Due to the nature of Geneva’s neutrality,” Angela nodded. That much was easy enough to understand. “Let me just be forward here then. You’ve set all of this up to this degree. What is it that you want from me?”

 

“A meeting with Katya Volskaya.”

 

Angela nearly choked on her sip of wine and had to wave off Fareeha’s concern before answering, “Are you insane?” 

 

“A compliment in comparison to other things I’ve been called,” Sombra shrugged. “So are you willing to help us?”

 

All eyes on her didn’t make the decision any easier, though the hesitation was a front either way. Angela had already decided to go through with whatever demands they wanted if it meant a chance to see the last seven years’ worth of Talon’s data on Widow. If it meant a chance at seeing something that would help her forgive herself for the way the woman still made her heart race, modifications or not, killer or otherwise, it would be worth the other risks.

 

“Yes. I will help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a number of songs this chapter could be named after.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Lemme know what you think.


	9. Danse Macabre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback? A dream? Sassy Sombra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter and a bit late. I've been struggling through some personal stuff recently. I throw thanks to those of you that are there to make me laugh and make it better <3

By the time they had agreed on different terms of working together, Angela was yawning every few seconds, a combination of travel and alcohol exhausting her more than she had expected. 

 

She was happy to use one of the guest rooms after assuring Fareeha that it would be fine for her to sleep in the room across the hall. “You’ll hear me if I need you, Fareeha. We have been fine, and I doubt they’re suddenly going to change their minds about killing us now that we’ve agreed to work together.” 

 

She didn’t say anything about how much of Amelie she could see in Widow, and how it reduced the fear immensely in favor of something more like fondness. It was a dangerous idea to be enamored with a world-famous killer, but she’d never believed that’s all she was. Plus, weren’t plenty of people killers when the circumstances demanded them to be? Even the one dedicated to the idea of nonviolence—pledged to do no harm and follow the oath—had to kill at times. In matters of life and death, decisions had to be made. Doctor Ziegler knew that mentality from many perspectives.

 

“But—”   
  
She pressed her fingers to the Egyptian’s lip to silence her, shaking her head back and forth. The command to stand down was implied enough that it hung in the silence for a moment before Fareeha nodded. Like any good soldier might, she waited and watched in her doorway until she heard the faint click of Angela’s door shutting.

 

As tired as she was, the files that Sombra had sent her at the end of their discussion called to her, and she felt the  _ need _ to read some of them. She had grabbed a small holopad from the Valkyrie—not at all ideal for her usual reading or notating, but it would have to do—and curled into a comfortable position against the headboard. A cigarette was between her lips less than five minutes into her research. 

 

She hated smoking. She’d picked up the habit after Amelie’s disappearance, mind seeking the visceral reminder of the woman, as if the tobacco on her lips could substitute the fantasies of the kiss she would never have. The most thought she put into it these days was making sure the ventilation of the space suited it, and the soft hum of the heat going was sufficient enough. She blew smoke from her nose and hoped the system didn’t carry the smell to the other rooms. No one needed to know that she couldn’t kick the habit when stressed.

 

“Didn’t you scold me more than once for smoking?”

 

Widow’s voice from the doorway almost made her choke on her smoke. She looked up from the notes—she’d glanced through all seven years of data once and was going over it again in depth—glasses sliding down her nose as she furrowed her brow. Careful to not let ash fall to the sheets, she tapped the cigarette against a panel of her armor that she was using as a makeshift ashtray. There were already two butts smashed against the metal. She took another drag and considered putting it out, deciding against it when the pleasant burn coated her throat.

 

“Didn’t hear you come in.”  _ Obviously. _ “What’s up?” She asked so nonchalant that it surprised her. It was early morning by now—though it was still dark, she could hear birds rousing into song outside and saw the time in the corner of her screen—sleep tugged strong at her senses once she didn’t have the distraction of her studies. She yawned into her fist and wished she had her coffee.

 

“You haven’t slept.”  _ Also obvious.  _ Her voice had that old chiding nature, laced with a genuine concern for Angela’s health and well-being. Her posture—leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed—looked exactly like the way she would visit her office in the past. She’d changed out of the dress, but the casual clothes of a simple shirt and pants seemed just a fashionable as she would have been then too. That much of her had not been lost with modifications.

 

Angela deflected as usual while trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. “Did I wake you?”

 

A brief look of confusion flashed over Amelie’s features, as though she didn’t understand the question. “No. I don’t sleep much these days...years. I have no real need.” She took a moment to consider her words, as if thinking of them was causing her great distress. “Did you want some coffee?”

 

Angela plucked the glasses off her face and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. While she wanted nothing more than to get some coffee and pretend her  _ friend _ from seven years ago was just trying to play catch-up, there was a lurking dread settling in her chest. Years of building walls to protect herself, crumbling with a twisted sense of both hope and despair.  _ I can’t do this again.  _ “Sure. That sounds great.” 

 

Widow watched the doctor peel herself away from her seated position and stretch once she stood. She sighed, and smoke curled over her lips, rolling like fog over the short remains of the cigarette hanging between them. Before the embers could burn her slender fingers, she crushed it between the remains of the other two, watching as the ash streaked across the white. As she approached the door, Widow stepped back to allow her to lead the way. She knew that it only took one exposure for the doctor to know the layout of a particular place—it had been one of her tactical gifts as a field medic—but she couldn’t fathom why she remembered that of all things.

 

Angela spoke before Widow could guard her expression, “You recall my strength in battlefield maneuvering.” It wasn’t a question, rather more like a resigned sigh in the form of a statement as she ran an absent-minded hand through her loose blonde curls. Her voice betrayed how broken she felt—the words like glass in her raw throat. “Why were you never able to take the shot?” 

 

“I took plenty.” Widow leaned against the the closest counter as they rounded into the kitchen, nodding to a cabinet opposite that had an assortment of coffee. It had been yet another frustrating aspect of memory that Sombra couldn’t help, the ability to remember small details. While the memory of the doctor liking coffee existed, it was Sombra’s research that determined her favorite kind. 

 

Angela managed a guarded smile as she pulled the grounds down with shaking fingers and breathed in the aroma. She wanted to believe that Widow had remembered, that  _ Amelie _ knew, that somehow the knowledge had transitioned from one iteration to the next. A quick glance at the blank expression confirmed that it wasn’t the case.  _ You fool, you should be so lucky that she knows you at all. Don’t be so selfish to believe she could remember every little detail. _

 

_ Coffee has never been a small detail. _ She placed both palms against the cold counter and willed herself not to remember _ ,  _ begged the nagging flashback to subside. 

 

<<<

 

_ “Amelie. It is not a laughing matter.” Angela looked up from the notes scattered over her desk, glaring over her glasses at her visitor. She pushed aside the blueprints for a weapon with a scoff.“Don’t assume that I’ll accompany you to coffee if you intend to try and poison me with commercial nonsense.” _

 

_ “You’re saying that our trips to the cafe up until now have been anything but?” Amelie crossed her arms and gestured with her hand to dismiss the idea.  _

 

_ “Actually. They stock the grounds I ask them to,” Angela smirked, a satisfied mirth twinkling in exhausted blue eyes. “So that’s exactly what I’m saying.” _

 

_ “Alright, well what is this fancy brand of yours?”  _

 

_ “Oh, I didn’t say it was fancy. It’s simple Arvid Nordquist,” She grabbed the mug as if reminded that it would soon be cold, throwing it back more like a shot of alcohol, “but there’s a reason it’s famous back home.”  _

 

_ No more than a week later and a bag of the grounds appeared on Angela’s desk. The note attached said, “So maybe the busy doctor will crawl from her cave to have coffee again sometime soon.” _

 

_ When she finally saw the gift at the end of a long day she had laughed until tears streaked down her face, a certain hysteria replacing her exhaustion. She excused herself for the evening after leaving detailed notes for her staff to complete. _

 

_ As she stepped outside the main gate, she imagined the way Amelie might be leaned against a post—blowing pale blue smoke into the cold night air—how she’d smirk when Angela inevitably scolded her for it. Her phantom laughter rang in Angela’s ears as she pulled her peacoat tighter, shrugging it higher though that might protect her from the memory. Gerard’s coma had been hard on her, yet his grieving wife always seemed to manage a smile for her on the rare nights they caught each other outside of the med bay. Amelie was a borderline professional in masquerading as the composed wife, but Angela saw her when the party ended and the Colombina fell away. _

 

_ Now that Gerard had recovered, Angela was paying back that trust by avoiding every contact Amelie attempted to make, continually baffled by the woman’s insistence on seeing her regardless. Each excuse she used to decline felt bitter, the rotten taste of a blatant lie coating her throat while she pretended she didn’t want to spend time with her. She could never admit that she preferred the time that she didn’t have to think about the woman’s husband in more than a medical capacity. _

 

_ She walked into a cluster of silver birch trees far from the base, the crunching sound of her footsteps in the snow a reminder of the way the muted winter landscape was waking to a new season. The melting frost glistened in the moonlight like a separate sky of stars, brilliant before they burned out in the light of the sun. Lake ice thawing and cracking rippled like thunder through the trees as if protesting the idea. _

 

_ The eerie sound shook her from another reverie. She let nature be the only witness to the breakdown she’d been trying desperately to bury beneath her work. She collapsed in a series of choked sobs, bracing herself against a nearby tree. Without looking up, her palms moved over it, marveling at the scars gashed in the crisscrossing bark. She wished her mind was clear enough to appreciate the beauty in the jagged edges that rose to meet her grasp like the calloused hands of an old friend. _

 

_ It had been a few months and the flickering warmth she had for Amelie had become her personal spring. The feeling tangled deep roots in places that had grown barren and cold over such a long time alone. It brought life into a feeling she thought herself immune, and grew with such force that she feared she might crack into pieces.  _

 

_ She loved her. Dear god, she loved a married woman, and no amount of effort she put into focusing on her work could change her realization—no more than one could reverse the change of seasons. _

 

_ She wept until her voice was lost. Her shuddering breaths cast faint clouds against the cold night air and streaks of tears froze against her pale cheeks. She thought it cruel that her mind’s response was to provide another hallucination of the woman consuming her every thought. _

 

_ “Ange? Ange!” Amelie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Angela’s neck. After a moment, she pushed away and studied the doctor’s face, moving her fingers to wipe tears away from eyes that refused to meet hers. She forced Angela to acknowledge her actual physical presence by squeezing her hand until she felt the responding squeeze. Her questions fell away in favor of genuine concern—though her features were twisted by a certain sadness—there was a pressing but gentle sound to her voice. “Come back home.” _

 

_ >>> _

 

The touch of cool fingers moving over her cheeks startled Angela from her memory. Her mind raced to catch up with the gap in memory the flashback caused, but an apology faltered when she saw Widow so close that their foreheads nearly touched. Something shifted beneath the surface of her stoic face, something so familiar, and Angela failed to find words as her tears were wiped away in gentle strokes.

 

It wasn’t clear if Widow realized what she was doing—her gold eyes were lidded, gaze lingering on Angela’s lips as her fingers slowed—until she spoke in a quiet voice.

 

“You’re letting your feelings control you again, aren’t you?” She breathed the the question against Angela’s lips as a mischievous smirk replaced her concern. “ _ Petit oiseau,  _ no different than all those years ago.”

 

Angela froze, every muscle in her body suddenly tight and alert. The nickname was like a gunshot in the middle of the battlefield, but she had no time to find cover. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it, blood rushing, eyes darting to lips far too close to hers.  _ Far too easy to close the distance between them. _ “Amelie?” 

 

“Not quite, but this feels so familiar.” Widow’s vexation rippled in the way her brows furrowed again, but there was a shift in her posture that suggested it wasn’t a struggle to relax. Her voice was light with a touch of reserved mirth when she continued. “At times it’s easier to remember. How could I ever forget this face you make when you’re nervous?”

 

“What?” Angela bit her cheek, trying to hold back more tears and convince herself that she hadn’t just passed out while reading back in the room, that it wasn’t an illusion created by a combination of sleep deprivation and flashbacks.

 

“Simply having you here...I can feel the echo of my humanity reaching back to me.” She stepped back and looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers, and the smile almost reached her eyes.

 

Angela tugged her shirt to bring her close again, resting against her shoulder. “You don’t know how much that means to me.” She spoke in a whisper as hands smoothed the angry lines of fabric at her sides. “I’m going to help you. I want them to pay for what they did to you.”

 

Widow sighed and rested her cheek against Angela’s hair. She didn’t raise her arms, unsure if returning the half embrace would be appropriate, and still somewhat shocked by the sudden affection. “I hope you can.”

 

“When have I ever settled for less than what I wanted?” Angela realized too late how comfortable she was, slipping into the twilight haze before sleep and struggling through the words. Her response slurred as she mumbled against Widow’s skin, barely registering the sharp hiss of her breath as Angela’s lips moved over her neck.

 

- - \- 

 

A sharp band of sunlight slanted through the window by the bed, glinting off the fragment of armor resting on the side table and casting shattered remnants of light against the wall.

 

The reflections crept through the fog of sleep and Angela groaned. She shifted and tried to bury her head beneath the pillow, chasing the sleep that she knew would continue to elude her. She swept her tongue over dry lips that tasted of stale cigarettes with a hint of red wine. The reminder woke her much faster and she scrambled to push herself into a seated position, searching the room as though Widow would be there waiting for her to wake.

 

_ Was it a dream after all?  _

 

She swept her fingers through her hair and tossed the covers to the side, making half an attempt to straighten them as she rose. Her shoulders popped when she stretched her arms above her and she cringed. Sleeping too much always felt much worse than too little.

 

Sombra was in the hall to stop her before she’d taken more than three steps towards the kitchen. She suppressed the growl in her throat at the idea of someone attempting conversation before she had any coffee. “How did you even know I was awake? Were you watching me sleep or something?”

 

“Sensors in the doorways.” Sombra quirked a brow, thrown off-guard by the doctor’s attitude. “Never mind that though. I sent you more files after I found some interesting information this morning. Talon never targeted you in sleeper treatments because they never saw you as more than a friend. I had my suspicions, but I found the messages to confirm it, and—” 

 

“We weren't,” Angela interrupted. A deep scowl replaced her tired smile.  

 

“ _ Qué? _ ”

 

“We weren’t more than friends.” 

 

“Oh. Right. That's why you're agreeing to help a couple terrorists, to justify your _friendship.”_ Sombra clicked her tongue, irritated and insulted now. “Talon may be foolish, but I am not a fool, Doctor Ziegler.” 

 

She continued, raising a hand to stop Angela’s protest. “Listen to me. You haven’t been with her in years. Learn to deal with the fact that you don’t know her anymore.” She stabbed a purple nail into Angela’s sternum, pressing into the thin night shirt, pushing a crescent shape into her chest. “ _ I _ have been the one by her side.  _ I _ have been helping her. So when  _ I _ tell you that I am already seeing results—that I've never seen her smile this frequently— _ you listen. _ ” 

 

Angela’s mouth snapped shut, the argument fizzling out before it could ever construct itself. Sombra was right. There was no argument to be had.

 

“Excellent. Now, in that same regard—” Sombra withdrew her hand with a playful smile, “The commander has left to deal with some personal business. Don’t worry, it’s legit, and she will be back before nightfall. I am leaving on similar personal business.” 

  
She flipped a glove hand and held up a holoscreen of security camera footage, waiting for Angela to understand that it was Talon agents searching the area. “To keep up appearances, I may be gone a bit longer, and I don’t suppose I need to tell you that it would be a wonderful idea for you two to  _ reacquaint  _ yourselves while we’re gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes the interaction did happen and it was not a dream. They will talk about it in the next chapter :)
> 
> Danse Macabre cause I've been feeling waltzes all week.


	10. Phenomena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since these two could sit down and talk, and let's just say the conversation isn't the same as it used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo boy, it's been a while huh? I'm really sorry for anyone that follows this work. I've been struggling to finish (or really start or work on) anything at all lately. I'm trying some things to get back into it, cause when I don't get the creative stuff going, the depression feeds off my disappointment for lack of creativity and it's just a vicious cycle. Hopefully *fingers crossed* I can get back to regularly writing some stuff and working on this. 
> 
> Thanks! Love you all! <3

Angela helped herself to the kitchen, in part just to see if her recollection was from a memory rather than a dream—surely things wouldn’t be so precisely placed in a dream. Still, her hand hesitated over the cabinet. Self-doubt was something she was accustomed to, especially in her own work, yet somehow it gave her pause in this instance.

 

“You seem to recall last night,” Widow said from the living room, looking up from the magazine Angela could barely see splayed over her thighs. Her tone was flat, that same emptiness that seemed natural to the assassin—so different than Amelie—yet something in the way she asked hinted to an underlying hope. Or maybe it was Angela that was doing too much hoping. 

 

Angela waited a long time to respond, which Widow didn’t seem to mind as she flipped through a few more pages. The coffee was indeed in the same spot, and she actually managed to get it brewing without having an episode this time. Her fingers ghosted over her bottom lip, remembering the way Widow had been  _ so close _ . She wanted Widow to tease that closeness again, if not simply for that remnant of Amelie to show herself again. 

 

Whoever she might be, Amelie, Widowmaker, it really didn’t matter the name. If those core traits of her personality remained beneath all to modifications, Angela would be, and was already starting to be, equally helpless to the attraction that remained.

 

As if reading her thoughts, Amelie looked up, the same confused look that Angela was starting to find a bit endearing on her face. Her gaze shifted into the kitchen, expression softening, “I remember this smell.”

 

Angela shut off the nagging thoughts of personal bias in favor for the professionalism that came easy. Even if psychiatry wasn’t her most notable field, she had plenty of knowledge of it—prompting questions and insights, digging for information, inviting open conversation, leading conversation—she had run the gamut in her studies. This was what the agents wanted after all.  _ Right? _ “Do you?”

 

“Yes.” Widow dog-eared a page of the magazine and set it to the side. She steepled her fingers and rested her chin against them, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath. By the time she opened them again, Angela was lowering herself onto the couch nearest to her chair, cradling a mug of the steaming coffee between deft, pale fingers. The urge to close the distance nagged from a nostalgic space and she had to shift her eyes away from the doctor’s inviting gaze.

 

“I remember, but I never know when it will happen or even if the fractured images are true. Am I creating a false reality to suit the needs of my own selfish desires?” Widow pressed her palms against her temples, the fog and insistent pressure of the conditioning descending on her senses, making it impossible to recall even recent memories. “I can’t remember who I was, who I am. Who am I supposed to be?”

 

“Those are questions that aren’t solely limited to you.” Angela took a sip of her coffee and hummed before continuing. “Self-awareness is a slippery concept, made more so by your,” the bite of the coffee wasn’t the only bitter taste as she considered her wording carefully, “unique experience.”

 

Angela took Widow’s expectant look as permission to continue her train of thought. She drummed her fingers against the mug, trying to make sense of the thoughts flooding her. It was an exercise in patience, both to make herself coherent in her explanations and assessments, and also to avoid overwhelming or overstimulating a patient in effectively a heavily medicated and altered state.

 

“Humankind has almost always struggled with the concepts of humanity and individuality. That is, I’d be more concerned for your condition if you  _ weren’t  _ asking those type of questions.” Not to say Talon hadn’t stripped some of that humanity, or that it wouldn’t be difficult to treat someone that should have a variable  _ team  _ of psychiatrists and specialists monitoring them, but there was that persistent sense of hope. The self-doubt, concern of capability to do this alone, all of those things could be addressed in private, in likely ridiculous hours of morning when sleep refused to come.

 

“I feel like,” Widow let go of her temples and glanced up, expression blank again, “sometimes I’m here, and then I’m not. Sort of a wandering sense of self, but with no idea who or what that  _ self  _ is.”   
  


“According to some of the reports I’ve read, the injections were centered on your posterior parietal cortex, and it’s likely that the self-identity issues originate there.” Angela pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses, “Also likely is that you’re recovering from dissociative and psychogenic amnesia. That recovery is usually fairly rapid; however, a general lack of information of how they managed the modifications to you, not to mention an attempt at treating you by myself when ideally I have an entire team, is going to make your treatment difficult and cautious at best.”   
  
“Whatever you need. I’ll find a way to get it myself, or I will give Sombra whatever she wants to get it.” Widow leaned forward, golden eyes glinting with far more emotion than she’d shown since Angela’s arrival, to the degree it was almost unsettling. “I’ve searched for you for so long. It can only be you. You’re the only one I can trust with this.”   
  


Angela felt the heat of a blush rising in her face and turned her gaze to the door as a distraction.“The problem isn’t with something I need, but with something I already have.” 

 

“What?” Widow followed her gaze to the door, unclear as to whether she was referring to something she was seeing. “Do you mean your companion?”   
  
_ Shit. _ She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Amelie from years ago would have teased her endlessly for that slip, but with Widow’s current confusion, it might be easier to cover.  _ Think, Angela. Think. _

 

“Mercy.”

 

Angela hadn’t noticed Widow stand while considering a story to match what she’d said, and was pulled from the thoughts by the husky voice referring to her by callsign. It always had a way of bringing her in and out of a moment, making her heart race like she was in battle, but making her more than prepared to take the inevitable command that would come over the comm right after it. 

 

In this case, having Widow standing over her, shins pressing against her knees for how close she was, made the fight or flight spike a huge surge of adrenaline into her system. She swallowed a thick gulp of air and set her mug on the side table, trying to settle shaking hands before she answered, “Yes?”   
  
Widow was on autopilot, body guided by whatever memory or compelling feeling that the parts of Amelie that remained felt in the moment. Though that was an excuse, Widow wasn’t fighting the desire for closeness and overwhelming fondness for the doctor whom she had spent so long searching. 

 

She didn’t fight the compelling urge to straddle Angela’s legs, brace her hands on her shoulders, and slowly drag her finger over and up her neck to tilt her chin to meet her gaze. She  _ did _ take a moment to enjoy how she didn’t need any of the augmentations to sense her accelerated heart rate, pupil dilation, and struggle to take an even breath. 

 

_ Stunning, mon ange.  _

 

_ You have no idea how long I’ve waited to see this look on your face again. _

 

“What is it that you have that’s a problem?” Widow’s voice dipped to a dangerous purr, golden eyes easily lost in the endless sea of blue as she searched her expression. Something felt so  _ familiar _ , so  _ human _ ; it was a distant memory perhaps, but the words tasted too familiar even before she spoke them. “Matters of the heart, Docteur?”

 

Angela froze as she was yanked back to all those years ago.  _ Is there self defense for matters of the heart, docteur?  _ All the emotions, the feelings, the  _ love.  _ Tears threatened to fall anew, and she set her jaw so forcefully that her teeth clicked. 

 

_ No, no, no, no, please no.  _

_ Widow isn’t Amelie.  _

 

_ She isn’t her, she isn’t her, she isn’t her. _

 

“Just like all those years ago.” Widow’s expression softened, looking away for a brief moment before turning her attention back to the doctor. The look was pained, a mirror to an internal struggle Angela might not ever understand fully. 

 

“Just like all those years ago,” Angela repeated, acknowledging the unspoken question. 

 

_ Of course I didn’t forget. How could I? _

 

“These feelings are...problematic?” Widow couldn’t quite keep eye contact anymore, and her fingers moved in idle patterns against Angela’s jawline as she tried to focus on the lingering smell of cigarette smoke blending with the sweet coffee aroma. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, suppressing emotions that she had vague recollection and severe lack of understanding.

 

“No!” Angela blurted an answer without much thought, grabbing Widow’s hand pressing her cheek to her knuckles. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

 

Widow glanced down, both surprised and pleased with the warmth of Angela’s against her own. 

 

The conflict of the mind raged, Talon’s programming begging to activate and control the situation, to overanalyze and follow procedure for unknown encounters: kill or be killed. The method was rooted in that humanity Angela had mentioned, the deepest instincts, but was manipulated and altered with twisted technology and techniques. 

 

It was easier to notice it now though, easier to ignore the instincts, easier to make her own decisions, easier to stop being Talon’s plaything. Something about those pale hands clasped over hers cleared another bit of the darkness, and she knew that she had not wasted her time finding Doctor Angela Ziegler. 

 

“I only meant—” Angela’s explanation was interrupted by Widow leaning down to press cold lips to her own. The kiss was curious, hesitant, and honestly nothing like what she would have expected from Amelie; however, she found herself melting into it with ease after the initial jolt, moving her hands to rest on Widow’s hips, assuring her without the need for verbal communication. 

 

There was plenty of internal conflict for both of them, as individuals and between each other, that much was evident, but the moment halted all of that. Time ticked to a stop and the constant static quieted in that brief moment. The absolute lack of  _ noise  _ was refreshing, addictive, and when Widow started to pull away, Angela tugged her shirt to continue the contact. 

 

_ Years.  _ For more than the seven that Amelie had been gone, Angela had  _ wanted _ this. Her rationale screamed that this international killer was not the Amelie she had once loved, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care for anything aside from the woman she was now pulling against her. She didn’t want to think about the feelings, the rationale, the past; all she wanted was to enjoy this feeling.

 

The original feeling that compelled Widow into action couldn’t be ignored when it returned. All the questions of who she was, Amelie, Widow, or The Widowmaker, none of that mattered; it could all wait. Mercy—no,  _ Angela _ —was absolutely  _ intoxicating _ and she could absolutely lose herself in  _ ravishing  _ her.

 

The kiss became less hesitant, more pressing, almost  _ starved _ . Widow pressed herself as close as possible, ignoring the squeak of the couch protesting the motion of their combined weight as she balanced her hands on the back of it. Touch starved as she was—though she wasn’t consciously aware of that fact—she nearly whined when Angela pulled back to take a labored breath.

 

“As much as I am immensely enjoying this,” Angela said as she worked to get her breathing to a reasonably normal rate, “I do not have the same augmentations that allow for me to breathe less oxygen.” She chuckled, keeping her hands resting gently against Widow’s ribs, but resisted the urge to lean her head against her chest.   
  
“Why?” Widow asked. 

 

“I’m going to assume you mean why that just happened, and not why I don’t have modifications.” Angela smirked, trying to lighten the mood that descended in response to the question. Widow’s scrutinizing stare continued to land on her lips, like she was fighting the urge to continue, and Angela had to fight the equally compelling urge to let her.

 

“There are a lot of things unresolved,” Angela pulled a hand back, tucking a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, “for and between both of us.”

 

“Add it to the list you will have to help me understand.” Widow tilted her head back and loosened her grip on the couch, but was hesitant to move away from the gentle hold Angela kept with her remaining hand. “I’m not entirely certain what came over me. I apologize.”   
  
“Don’t apologize,” the words were so quiet that Widow might have missed it if not for her modifications, but none of Talon’s chemicals could or would help her understand the emotional impact of the additional, “please.”

 

The both remained silent for a long while. It was not an entirely uncomfortable silence, but more a series of curious and introspective moments. 

 

Widow glanced at a digital display Sombra had installed near the front of the room. An interaction of less than ten minutes should not have felt so draining. “I feel so tired.” 

 

“Another symptom you exhibit is hypo-emotionality. That combined with periods of depersonalization and derealization can create a good amount of fatigue.” Angela shifted her gaze to the side again, worried that being so professional with her  _ client  _ still in her lap was more than inappropriate, but not eager to let her leave. “Essentially, the average person’s perception is emotionally colored, and you have a reduced response to typical stimuli. The effect Sombra is having on the treatment may be why you’re starting to regain some of that experience, as well as whatever connection you have to who you were before being altered in such ways.”

 

“Well, that would explain some things.” Widow traced a thumb over the doctor’s cheek, admiring those endless blue depths again before standing and gazing down the hall. “And on that note, I’d like to show you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is after the Yeah Yeah Yeahs song. 
> 
> If you'd like any of my source material for the psychological stuff, feel free to hit me up. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	11. Fade Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Tah for my beta reading. I'm gonna get better with your help, damn it. <3
> 
> Also shout out to Beth for being an amazing bit of motivation and the backbone of what makes creative work worth doing.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and sticking with me through this. I'm tryin my best, I promise. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sombra leaned her head back against a rare brick wall. It was in part of the city that wasn’t slathered in shiny modifications of future technology; it didn’t hum with an energy that rippled over her skin in waves. It was silent and stable, and it gave her a moment to collect herself as shadows stretched into the narrow alley and her breath plumed in the cold evening air.

_ I want her to live. _

_ I’m not entirely sure what’s driven me to feel this way, but it has become an indisputable fact. _

_ What started as a simple test of my skill, almost a game, has become something entirely different. _

She clicked her tongue at her continued inability to regulate her racing heart, even with cybernetic enhancements.

_ I didn’t expect it to hurt this much. _

“Sombra.” 

The bastardized version of her technology was so obvious she could tell the operative was there before he shimmered into view. It's a bitter taste to swallow her complaints since she doesn’t want her employer to have the technology at all, but there are compromises to make in the delicate process of mutiny, after all. 

However, she won't compromise on refusing to answer, simply shifting violet eyes in his general direction and waiting for him to continue.

“It was not authorized for you and the Widowmaker to travel through Geneva.” He pulled a holopad from his pocket and scrolled through some notes, effectively ignoring her to deliver his assessment in the most monotone voice she’d ever heard. She couldn’t help but wonder if the same chemicals used to condition The Widowmaker were used in lesser amounts to destroy feeling in standard soldiers.“You know it’s especially difficult for us to work in the international safe zones, and your current mission is to do recon in Volskaya’s territory.”

She used the chilled breeze that whistled through the alley as an excuse to cross her arms, rubbing her hands over her thick jacket for added effect. “We’re aware.”

He looked up from his notes, his voice finally hinting at the irritation of having to do what he probably believed to be babysitting duty, tapping the stylus against the side of the holopad. “Then you’ll also be aware you’re a good few days travel from your intended location?” 

She uncrossed her arms, flexing her fingers to refrain from hitting him. “You’ll have to forgive my transgressions considering I have information that both Dr. Angela Ziegler and Commander Fareeha Amari are in this city.” His befuddled stare made her shrug, waving her hand in a dismissive circle. “But  _ please,  _ let me go get the world’s best assassin so we can do our  _ recon. _ ”

He seemed to consider a biting response, but thought better of it, tucking the holopad back into a large pocket on his thigh. “Understood, agent, but your supervisors will expect a detailed report on your actions, as I’m sure you’re also aware.”

“As I’ve supplied every month for the last seven years, yes.” She didn’t allow her amusement to show as she tore the data off his device, reading through it even as their meeting continued. It would be so unfortunate when his cloaking device fell away in the middle of the crowd he tried to traverse in a few minutes. 

_ Pobrecito. _

 

- - -

 

The flight from Geneva to Cairo wasn’t long—four hours was hardly worth noting when it came to travel times—but combined with leaving her closest friend in the custody of some deadly rogue double agents took a heavy toll on Fareeha.

It made her nervous enough just to leave Angela alone, but the information that Sombra had provided and the agreement their party had come to seemed both legitimate and strong. Bringing Talon and those that wished to spur yet another Omnic war to justice was well worth pushing aside personal feelings.

_ Though being worth it to do, and being easy to do, are very different things. _

The hum of the dropship faded out as she thought about Angela, anxious about all that could go wrong with her gone for a week or more. She didn’t even realize when the early morning darkness shifted to the pastel light of sunrise, thin wisps of creamsicle colored clouds whisked away as the engines flipped for the descent into Cairo.

“Commander?”

“Mm?” Fareeha shifted her attention, straightening her posture, adding, “I apologize, I seem to have been absorbed in my own thoughts.”

“We’ve arrived.”

She wondered if these were the type of times that people stepped aside—to gaze off into the sunset, lighting a cigarette under a cupped hand blocking the wind from the sea, absently exhaling smoke from the first drag as the embers smoldered the same color of the sky—doing anything to distract themselves from intrusive thoughts, expecting an answer from no one to a question unasked. 

The thought dispersed as the engines shut down, the low whine of their cooling down replacing the audible vibration from the flight. She hadn’t even moved to unbuckle the harness strapped across her chest. Seconds ticked into minutes on the clock in the Raptora’s display, and the few people already standing in front of her waited patiently, silent despite the concern etched on their features. Usually orders would come far faster than this, but no one dared to ask.

“I think,” Fareeha swiped a hand over her face, rubbing at her eyes, dismissing the idea of running away from her responsibilities, “I will postpone the debriefing until later this evening. Meet me in my office at 1700 sharp. Dismissed.”

Years or even just months ago, a later meeting might allude to her desire to bring the team out to a restaurant, to ease the tension that their work could create and to get insight into her soldiers' less professional personas. Now she pressed her palms to her temples as the sound of their boots on the exit ramp faded, and she could feel the heat of tears withheld for too long burning lines over her cheeks before her team was even fully out of sight.

_ Angela, I hope this is the right thing to do. _

 

_-_ _-_ _-_

 

Widow had assumed correctly that Angela would follow her as she moved down the hall towards the same storage room in which the Valkyrie was being kept.

“Widow?” Angela tilted her head, nursing her remaining coffee before it got too cold—not that a temperature existed that she wouldn’t still drink it.   
  
“I know it seems serendipitous to bring it up now, but I was reminded for some reason,” Widow said without turning her head, continuing into the room and moving towards the back right corner.  

When Widow placed her palm against part of the wall—Angela marveled at how apparent her cyanosis was contrasted against the plain white surface—pink bands of light cascaded in jagged lines to center at her touch.

“Don’t worry,” she said as the bands of light rippled over her skin, lighting her eyes to a pale rose gold, “the light show is the system that confirms my identity.”

“Well, usually.” Sombra clicked her tongue, the sound echoing around the room also masking the origin of the communication. “This time it’s a little different.”

The fact that Widow couldn’t move her arm wasn’t immediately evident, but the flash of anger in her features made Angela take an involuntary step back.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Sombra said, making Angela bristle at the relatively innocent curiosity in her voice, “would you say your friend here is currently herself?”   
  
There was a long pause. Her hesitation must have made her confusion obvious.   
  
“That is, do you think the person standing with you right now is more Amelie than the Widowmaker?” 

The anger she had seen in Widow’s eyes still reflected in the light, but now it was a thoughtful sort of anger, almost understanding. It was a fire that had burned for a long time, a dormant feeling that swam beneath that gold color, and Angela couldn’t help but think this was not the first time this silent war of attrition had occurred between these two. 

“Feel free to do a more in-depth exam to answer. I will need your professional assessment before I release this hold.”   
  
“Do you feel it’s truly necessary to restrict her movement in this fashion?” Angela felt silly asking the wall, but at least the light gave her a point of focus to direct the inquiry. 

“Would you like the world’s best assassin to have unrestricted movement when it’s possible I’ve tapped her conditioning?”

Angela gasped before she could stop herself, mentally kicking herself when she noticed, but also inadvertently answering the question. When she directed her attention to assessing Widow’s condition, gold eyes followed her movements with an uncanny curiosity. Widow tilted her head, apparently only allowed to move from the neck up—Angela assumed it was more so that she could watch for subtle facial movements rather than for the assassin’s benefit—regarding her with a relaxed expression.  

“Can your condition be  _ activated _ just like that?” Angela followed the lines of light over Widow’s arm, hesitating with her hands above the skin.   
  
“ _ Comprehensive _ , doctor, if you would.”

Angela swung her head around, as though glaring at the wall would achieve anything. The biting response to not question her medical expertise died in her throat when she realized that her hands were still hesitating. This would be the best opportunity to do a thorough examination of the assassin, but it felt  _ wrong.  _ Restraint was not uncommon in patients that may present a danger to themselves or others, but this was... _ not Amelie. _ So why did she still hesitate? 

“Are you waiting for her permission?” Was that  _ amusement  _ combined with impatience?

Angela bristled again, directing her response to Widow rather than the wall. “As a medical professional, I have the responsibility to treat my patient as an individual and respect their dignity. My primary concern is care for my patient, above all else.”

The connection muffled Sombra’s muttered response, but Angela could swear there was a bitter comment about a mentor and a broken oath. 

“I trust you to work with integrity, doctor,” Widow finally added her input. Angela could swear her shoulders would have sagged if not held up by whatever Sombra was doing. 

Her submission did not feel  _ good  _ in any right, but making her stand there and wait any longer felt worse. Angela finally lowered her hands, kneading through the coiled muscles around Widow’s forearm, assessing but also attempting to provide relief for the odd position. She tried not to think about how holding her arm steady like this would be a lot more difficult with a rifle in hand, and that this was probably nothing to her. “A full work-up is going to take more time and equipment than this, I hope you realize.” 

“You will have what you need,” Sombra cut in after another buzz of static. “I just need you to tell me our current status before I bring her back.”   
  
Angela’s hands froze around Widow’s shoulder, feeling the muscle and joint strength as she moved her hands over the second arm. “I’m sorry.  _ What? _ ”   
  
“Doc, you didn't really think she was suddenly free from Talon just because you showed up.”   
  
Widow hadn’t broken eye contact with her once until now, a subtle shift to avoid the incredulous look. 

“I don’t have a secure enough connection to give the full details, and I’m likely going to lose my line soon for name dropping like a fool.” Her  _ tsk _ came across as another blip of static. “To make short work of a long explanation: we’re still on a mission technically. Therefore, I still have to provide monthly detailed reports and also bring The Widowmaker back for her reconditioning.”  
  
Whatever argument Angela might have had died when she saw Widow shake her head slightly, the fire she’d seen before completely snuffed. This  _ had  _ been a long process, after all. She would be foolish to think it would suddenly change because she was here. She didn’t even have equipment. The motions of her exam continued on autopilot, starting with pressing against the lymph nodes in her neck,  making mental notes to add to her assessment on a holopad later. 

“I’m not entirely certain how to make an adequate assessment of mental levels through physical exam, but based on a quick exam, I don’t have reason to believe I’m in the presence of Talon’s weapon, The Widowmaker.”  
  
The soft glance Widow shared with her as she stepped back confirmed that suspicion, but subjective tells like that could not be used for true diagnosis. Considering the severe lack of objectivity made Angela chew at her lip until she tasted copper.   
  
“Going to lose my line in a moment, but I’m going to send you an important document Dr. Ziegler.” The fuzz of static crept back into the line as the light faded from Widow’s arm. The wall slid away to reveal an array of weapons, the hardlight flickering to life behind them, making for a dangerous set of silhouettes. “Do be careful, won’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by the Logic song by the same name. Has a lot to do with what is happening with Widow and what the intentions are for her going forward.
> 
> Look forward to your thoughts!


End file.
